Lara Croft in the Search for Xanadu
by Neil Stokes
Summary: The suave but suspect Mr. Hurt offers Lara Croft an assignment to find the Pleasure Dome in Xanadu, mythical kingdom of the Mongol Emporer, Kubla Khan. Her only lead is Angela, orphaned child of a dead archaeologist who was on the verge of discovering Xa
1. A Day in the Life

Lara Croft in the Search for Xanadu ****

Lara Croft in the Search for Xanadu

By

Neil Stokes

[stokesneil@yahoo.es][1]

This story contains some violence and bad language.

Thanks to Eva, Chris and Jess.

Tomb Raider, Lara Croft, her image and likeness are trademark and copyright © of EIDOS Interactive and Core Design. No infringement or challenge to these copyrights is intended.

****

* * * * *

Chapter 1: A Day in the Life

Scorched in the sun, the plain of grass bent double by the day's hot breath, a statue breaks the endless horizon. Of human shape, it looms dark against the flawless sky while in its shadow shell casings lay scattered among the stubs of burnt out flares. A pair of scuffed boots dangle in the air. The statue's savage face is turned towards the sky, its extended arm ending in a giant's fist closed around the swollen flesh of a woman's neck. Held out like an offering to the sun, Lara Croft hangs motionless from the gallows of the statue's grip.

* * * * *

Lara awoke to the clashing cymbals of panic. Wherever she was, at whatever time, she emerged from sleep like a half-drowned man flailing for the surface. She never sat up drenched in sweat and crying out like in the movies; she had learned to slam the panic down and extinguish it with a characteristic, precise efficiency. But controlling this reflex took so much out of her she could never learn to accept sleep as anything more than a necessary, curative task: staying in bed and enjoying the drowsy pleasure of warm ruffled sheets was a very rare thing for her. She didn't regret it; there was little Lara Croft ever regretted.

On a day like this, however, she came as near as she ever did to regret. She had a meeting with a stranger; one of the many rich venal egoists she was forced to associate with in order to be able to do what she lived for: stealing to order from tombs. Attracted more by the danger than the archaeological aspects or the financial reward, she was nevertheless dependant upon these wealthy collectors, a dependence she hated but as with regret, not a feeling she generally allowed herself to entertain. Lara Croft would be quite prepared to shoot you in the face but rarely out of hate.

Her routine varied little when she was at home: an inherited, largely empty mansion in the south of England. Foregoing breakfast, the major part of any typical morning at home was occupied with a workout. Lara Croft had no husband to deal with, no children to look after and no pets to pamper but she had a passion and lavished attention on anything connected with her working life – if running around ancient buried ruins could be considered a worthwhile occupation. 

Her private assault course was her pride and joy; built to her specifications she had overseen every detail of its construction down to the smallest nail. She stood now on the first wooden platform dressed in combat fatigues, the cold morning air prickling her skin and the grey English sky shifting above her. Ahead lay a series of demanding obstacles that she contemplated for a moment before closing her eyes, stretching her arms out to her sides and inhaling deeply. Her muscles coiled beneath her clothes, raising her to the tips of her toes. She continued to build the tension in her body until it begged to be unleashed. At the very moment she was about to launch herself forward a rattling sound intruded. Her look of irritation disappeared instantly when she turned and saw the hunched, slow-moving figure of Winston approaching from the house. Her ageing butler was an unending source of amusement to her, from his tottering walk to his fierce protective devotion. And although this strong-willed, spirited woman would never admit it, he was also one of her few sources of affection. "Thought you might like a cuppa tea to get yer blood moving, Miss Lara," said the elderly butler whose grip on life seemed as precarious as his grip on the tea tray.

Lara couldn't help smiling at his comic way of shuffling, which put the tea things in imminent danger of crashing to the gravel. She had a great fondness for this old man. When her father, Lord Henshingly Croft, if anything even more strong-willed than his proud daughter, had thrown her out of the family for refusing to follow the future he had sketched out for her, Winston had surprised everyone by resigning immediately in order to go and look after Lara. He felt that this young girl, as ironic as it might seem, wouldn't last ten minutes in the brutal world by herself. "How kind but I think I'll take tea at the end of the course," she said.

He came to a slow halt before looking up, taking a few seconds to focus. "Right you are, Miss Croft. I'll be waiting on yer pleasure at the end, shall I?" Without pausing for an answer he turned slowly and began shuffling in the other direction. Before he had taken two steps Lara's shadow swept over him as she leapt past, running and bounding along the assault course like a trained gymnast. Not surprisingly it was she who was waiting at the end and when he finally arrived she had already fully recovered from her exertion.

"It's still hot, isn't it?" he enquired as she took a sip.

"Yes, lovely," she lied.

"May I ask what your plans are today, Miss Lara?" he asked.

"I have a meeting with a gentleman in 'The Dorchester'."

"A young gentleman?" prompted Winston hopefully.

"I don't know if he's young," replied Lara with a grin, "but he's certainly very rich."

   [1]: mailto:stokesneil@yahoo.es



	2. A Meeting with Destiny

Lara Croft in the Search for Xanadu ****

Lara Croft in the Search for Xanadu

By

Neil Stokes

[stokesneil@yahoo.es][1]

This story contains some violence and bad language.

Thanks to Eva, Chris and Jess.

Tomb Raider, Lara Croft, her image and likeness are trademark and copyright © of EIDOS Interactive and Core Design. No infringement or challenge to these copyrights is intended.

****

* * * *

****

Chapter 2: A Meeting with Destiny

In a spray of gravel, a Norton 'Streetfighter' came to a crunching halt. A slim rider enveloped in tight black leather dismounted, removed her helmet and shook free waves of long auburn hair. With the soft purr of a zipper she peeled open the front of her tunic, taking out a pair of round shades and pushing them up to the bridge of her nose. Lara Croft's sunglasses would one day be a collector's item: hallmark, calling card, mask; they provided her with much more than protection from the sun's rays. 

The moment she entered the reception area of 'The Dorchester Hotel' every man in the vicinity turned to look. Threatening only her dignity, she was aware of each one, where they were sitting or standing and what they were doing. Lara had learnt that being aware was a far more useful weapon than any pistol or shotgun; she rarely let her guard down even in the lobby of an expensive hotel. She was perfectly conscious of the good-looking, middle-aged man who had risen as she had come in and who followed her to the reception desk where she now stood. She spun round to face him but before she could speak, his deep educated voice began to recite:

"In Xanadu did Kubla Khan 

A stately pleasure-dome decree:

Where Alph, the sacred river, ran

Through caverns measureless to man 

Down to a sunless sea..."

Lara cut in:

"So twice five miles of fertile ground 

With walls and towers were girdled round: 

And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills, 

Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree...

'Kubla Khan' by Samuel Taylor Coleridge: a lovely poem," she said, presuming she had found her contact.

"It is, it is but alas not quite so lovely as you, Miss Croft."

Lara lifted one eyebrow over the rim of her sunglasses. "You're very forward, Mr Hurt."

He leaned towards her smiling and speaking in a confidential tone: "I say what I think, Miss Croft, although I must admit, not with the finesse of poetry. Shall we sit?" He bowed as he turned, one guiding hand indicating the direction. Lara didn't move; she looked at him, noting everything: his hair was grey but thick and neat; he wore an immaculately tailored pearl grey suit set off by a bright red silk tie; he was tall and although good-looking had a contented air that could easily be interpreted as smugness. Lara let herself be led to a nearby couch. She said nothing for the moment; she wanted to see and hear more before she allowed things to go any further. She watched his smooth confident movements and noted the fussiness with which he straightened the crease of his expensive trousers as he sat. For some reason he irritated her. She placed her helmet on the floor and with a creak of leather she too sat but avoided the disabling depth of the cushions and remained perched on the edge of her seat as if ready to leave at any moment. Hurt reached out a manicured hand and began to pour coffee as he spoke: "I imagine you are fond of literature, Miss Croft. I have avidly followed the publication of your most original books. They interest me greatly."

"Not quite Coleridge though," Lara responded, resting a boot on the top of her helmet.

"No, but they could be." He passed her a cup.

"Whatever do you mean, Mr. Hurt?" said Lara, playing along.

"My recital of 'Kubla Khan' was more than a dramatic entrance." He leaned back into the padding of the couch and sipped at his coffee. "Just imagine if Xanadu, that elusive paradise hunted ruthlessly through western literature really did exist. Imagine if an emperor of absolute power really had commanded a 'Pleasure Dome' to be built, imagine a magnificent palace filled with outlandish treasures. And imagine _the_ treasure, hidden at the centre of this impossibly beautiful fortress, through which the owner could have his deepest longing made reality. What a find that would be, eh, Miss Croft?"

"I think that if it were true, it would have been found by now," was Lara's curt reply.

Hurt cocked his head as if in thought before saying: "Do you mean, like the Scion?"

It was no secret but Lara felt her mind reel at the unexpected mention of the Scion. Looking down she very carefully replaced the cup on the low coffee table. Hurt's tone was like a slap across her cheek; this stranger understood too much. Recalling her first outing that had irrevocably converted her into what she was: a tomb raider, she suddenly felt faint; her hearing was obliterated for a second by the remembered scream of subterranean winds, which failed to hide the terrifying mutant howls of memory that still woke her some nights. She noticed that her hands were trembling slightly as she forced herself to look at Hurt. With her returning composure she saw a small glint of surprise, or possibly triumph, in Hurt's eyes. "An inexperienced adventuress alone in the dark with only her wits to fend off a mutant army baying for her blood. It must have been hard, very hard," he said in a soft, sympathetic voice stretching out a hand and patting her knee.

Lara's anger ignited at his touch and she asked sharply: "What do you want exactly, Mr. Hurt? I haven't got all day." She was furious with him for having found his target so well and with herself for having let him through to that confused area of emotion where fear shadowed pride with every step of memory. Lara was unable, or rather unwilling to hide anger and now, unseen behind her sunglasses, her eyes sparkled with defiance.

"But then you are an equally hard woman," he went on, withdrawing his hand and shaking his head in admiration. "Extraordinary," he added after a pause. Lara said nothing, continuing to stare at him angrily. "Very well, Miss Croft, " he said, "I'll be brief and 'get down to business' as they say. Or may I call you Lara?" he asked.

"Miss Croft," was all she could spit out through her anger.

Hurt's face took on a disappointed expression for a moment and raising his eyebrows in a look of slight indignation he continued: "Kubla Khan did build his pleasure dome, _Miss Croft_." He accentuated her name with unnecessary emphasis. "And _the_ treasure of which I spoke does exist: The Orb of Longing. It reputedly has the power to provide its possessor with whatever he or she desires. It lies at the heart of the Dome and is there for the taking. Unfortunately being an old man," clearly less than sixty the way he held himself suggested health and poise, "I am unable to get there myself and...," he looked around, searching for the word. "..._extract_ what interests me. You are, of course, the best at what you do. I only ever have the best." He drew out the sibilant sound in the word 'best' and looked at her in such a way that gave her a sudden feeling of bashfulness as if caught leaving the shower. 

"Go on," Lara commanded.

"There is little more to say. I want the Orb and I want you to get it for me. It's as simple as that."

"You want your deepest wishes to come true," Lara scoffed.

"Don't we all, Miss Croft. However, I am a businessman with little time for fantasies. The Orb is a diamond, the biggest in the world, naturally. I'll settle for that." He sat back into the sofa as if he had finished but when Lara opened her mouth to speak he held up a hand to forestall her, sat forward and whispered seriously: "I am not asking for your help, Miss Croft. I am merely enabling you to fulfil the destiny that you yourself have chosen." He sat back waving his hands slightly to encourage her to talk. 

Lara's first reaction was to laugh in his face for his dramatic words and gestures but she sensed a truth in them that she couldn't deny. She felt a familiar curiosity take control and she knew that she would accept whatever preposterous scheme he was about to suggest. However, she refused to give in so easily; her acceptance would put inevitable restrictions on her independence and she wanted to avoid that for as long as possible. With a frozen smile she said, "I'm not interested in wild goose chases, Mr Hurt, but thank you for your confidence." Reaching for her helmet, she stood up as if to leave.

Before either of them could move a mobile phone started screeching and holding out one hand to detain her Hurt reached into his inside pocket and answered with a touch of annoyance. His expression changed immediately and with a large smile he bellowed: "Mr Smiley, how nice of you to answer so promptly." He stopped talking and listened while Lara thought to herself: _So Rob Smiley's in on this? _"Of course, of course, Mr Smiley," continued Hurt, "just say 'when'."

Lara shook her head and thought once more, _Rob Smiley?_ She felt a pang of disappointment at the sound of his name. Smiley was a tomb raider like herself and although he'd been around a lot longer than she had, she knew she was better than any ageing Australian with an inflated reputation. This sudden indignation surprised her and she realised that she already considered the Kubla Khan project as her own. As Hurt finished his phone conversation she had to admit to herself that holding out any longer was not going to get her anywhere. Replacing the mobile, Hurt turned to face her. "Where were we, Miss Croft?"

"We were about to discuss my fee," she replied as innocently as possible.

He gave her a large smile. "Oh, yes. Now I remember," he said. "Please, sit down Lara. I'll order some more coffee." Lara sat down again, her fists clenched at her sides.

   [1]: mailto:stokesneil@yahoo.es



	3. The Child Inside

Lara Croft in the Search for Xanadu ****

Lara Croft in the Search for Xanadu

By

Neil Stokes

[stokesneil@yahoo.es][1]

This story contains some violence and bad language.

Thanks to Eva, Chris and Jess.

Tomb Raider, Lara Croft, her image and likeness are trademark and copyright © of EIDOS Interactive and Core Design. No infringement or challenge to these copyrights is intended.

****

* * * *

****

Chapter 3: The Child Inside

Lara Croft slowly rotated her hands at her sides as she floated beneath the surface of the water. Only her face showed, her eyes were closed and her hair had spread itself out around her head like a silken fan. She was the image of serenity, on the outside. But inside streams of slow anger crept and bubbled like lava, engulfing all her attempts at rebuilding the calm and contentment she had felt before her interview with Hurt. Lara took humiliation badly and she decided it had been very humiliating. Hurt had strummed upon her as if she had been a simple instrument; he had exposed and manipulated her fears and desires, forcing her into a basic decision that perfectly coincided with what he wanted her to do. 

Her swim wasn't working. Flipping over she plunged to the bottom of the pool and with arms outstretched turned and sped to the surface. Her perfectly toned body slipped from the water with the smoothness of machinery. As she hauled herself onto the poolside she remained poised for a second, exposing the tanned firmness of her limbs and the intricate pattern of old scars that traversed her skin like lace. Covering herself with a bathrobe she walked into the living room, almost colliding with Winston, who was at that moment tottering in the direction of the pool, his tray held before him as if he were grasping onto it for support. "Ah, Miss Lara," it took him a few seconds to remember why he'd been looking for her, "this package has just been sent," he said finally.

Thanking him she took the brown parcel from his tray and tore it open. 'It's from Hurt,' she said out loud while she began to leaf through the bundle of documents the envelope contained. There were letters, maps, poems, photocopies of parchments, and photographs. It was the usual tedious bumf to be read and memorised before the real business could begin. One photograph, however, particularly caught her attention: a large colour portrait of a blonde-haired child. The child was a girl and she was looking straight into the camera, smiling with her mouth open as if she were on the point of bursting into laughter. The smile was so appealing that Lara felt her anger slink away before this image of happiness. The other documents forgotten, she continued to stare at the picture, taking in the open happy expression, the healthy shine in the child's eyes and on her fair hair. She experienced a rare sense of joy that at the same time was tinged with a bitterness she was hardly aware of. She felt for a moment as if she should know this child, not recognising the bitterness as the disappointment of having nothing to do with the girl whatsoever. She was brought out of her reverie by Winston's light cough of interruption: "Will that be all, Miss?"

"Yes, of course. I'm sorry, Winston. Thanks for the parcel," she replied vaguely.

"It's just that I've got a few jobs to be getting on with, yer know..."

"Yes. I mustn't keep you away from your work..."

"...one or two things to do. But if yer need me they can wait..."

"No, Winston. Please get on with whatever it is..."

"...Not to say I don't know what my priorities are, Miss. Nigh on sixty years in service have taught me a thing or two. Now, I remember when yer father was a little boy..."

Lara was perfectly aware of the danger she was running by letting Winston reminisce and decided to cut it short before things got out of hand. "Actually, there is one thing I do need you for," she interrupted him desperately, racking her brains for a job to get rid of him with. "Could you...? Could you...?" He had stopped to lean forward in order to hear what she had to say but she knew it was only a temporary reprieve and if she wanted to avoid having to listen to her entire family history she had to think fast. "Could you...?" Nothing; her mind was blank. The seconds ticked past and she could see him about to launch into his treasure trunk of memories once more when all of a sudden the phone rang. "...answer the phone, please?" She almost sighed with relief as Winston, with a nod, turned and began to shuffle off in direction of the hall. Lara followed him, the parcel of documents tucked under her arm but the photograph still in her hands. She looked at it as she walked through the spacious empty living room and flipped it over to see if there was anything on the back. There was an inscription written in blue biro: 'Angela - Barcelona'. She had reached the doorway to the hall, the phone had stopped ringing and looking up she saw Winston making his way towards her with a cordless phone rattling on his tray.

"Mr Hurt, Miss" he said, handing her the phone.

Her face hardened when she heard Hurt's smooth voice say cheerily: "Lara, my dear."

"I wanted to talk to you, Mr Hurt." She felt uneasy once more, like back at the hotel, although a part of her anger returned and filled her with a feeling of unsatisfactory defiance.

"It has been a long time since a beautiful young woman wished to talk to me, Lara. I am very flattered."

Once again the lava bubbled, but it now felt like the petulant anger of a child. Lara rolled her eyes and continued: "I haven't had time to look at the things you sent but there's a photo here of a young girl called Angela. Who is she?"

"Angela, my dear Lara, is a key."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"When you have time to read the notes you have received it will become clear."

"Tell me now." Lara could not seem to resist the temptation of trying to ruffle Hurt's slick composure; his smooth tone provoked her. He seemed to find it amusing and with a light laugh replied: "Your eagerness does you credit, Lara. Angela is the surviving child of Humphrey Cotting..."

"Surviving?"

"Yes, I failed to mention Mr. Cotting earlier. He was found dead in a hotel room in Barcelona three weeks ago."

"Who was he?" inquired Lara.

"Humphrey Cotting was a failed archaeologist who stumbled upon a find out of all proportion with his abilities."

"Let me guess: The Pleasure Dome?"

"Surely you hadn't thought that I alone had unearthed Xanadu? Why, now you do flatter me, Lara. No, that was when Cotting came to my attention. Not knowing what to do next he had been touring the major European cities trying to peddle his discovery. Evidently he bumped into the wrong people. In return for providing for his daughter, a task let me assure you I would have been more than willing to assume for nothing in return, poor child, I was given all the information he had so far collected on Xanadu and the Pleasure Dome. In his final notes he wrote the words and I quote: 'Only Angela can unlock it! Oh, God help me.'"

"Why 'Oh, God help me'?" she asked.

"I have absolutely no idea," he replied. "That's why I have people with Angela right now. They will ascertain whether she does have any important information and if so it shall be passed to you straight away."

Lara's distaste became alarm. She had felt an unfamiliar spontaneous affection for this child; something about her smile in the photo had latched onto Lara's imagination so that she found herself saying: "I'll do it. I'll go to Barcelona and interview her."

"I didn't have you down as the babysitting kind. I'm not sure you're the person for the job, my dear." Hurt laughed. His teasing made Lara feel uncomfortable because she knew he was right and yet a strong, undeniable instinct forced her to repeat her offer but still laughing he answered: "No, I don't think so..."

She interrupted him, "I said, I'd do it. This is my project and I'll do it my way. I want to talk to the child." 

There was a pause, then a sigh. "Very well," said Hurt, "if you insist." His voice had suddenly taken on a displeased tone and this more than anything convinced Lara she had made the right decision. "I'll make sure you are sent a ticket..."

"No. I'll make my own arrangements. Just send me the address in Barcelona and I'll make sure you get the bill."

"Oh, how I _do_ look forward to that," replied Hurt, his voice laced with sarcasm.

   [1]: mailto:stokesneil@yahoo.es



	4. Three's a Crowd

Lara Croft in the Search for Xanadu ****

Lara Croft in the Search for Xanadu

By

Neil Stokes

[stokesneil@yahoo.es][1]

This story contains some violence and bad language.

Thanks to Eva, Chris and Jess.

Tomb Raider, Lara Croft, her image and likeness are trademark and copyright © of EIDOS Interactive and Core Design. No infringement or challenge to these copyrights is intended.

****

* * * *

****

Chapter 4: Three's a CrowdChristopher Columbus, with a lone seagull for company, stood atop his pedestal and pointed confidently towards America. Hundreds of feet below Lara Croft, amid the commercial bustle of Barcelona's old port, followed his directions and found herself at the foot of a newly built glass structure crammed full of shoppers, moviegoers and tourists. Beyond the harbour the Mediterranean shimmered beneath the bright sun.

She went and sat on a bench to review her situation. Having flown direct from Heathrow, a taxi had taken her as far as Plaza Cataluña setting her down among crowds of tourists who were only outnumbered by the swarms of greedy pigeons that boldly gorged on the seed in their outstretched palms. What she had imagined as a leisurely stroll down the Ramblas, festooned with flower stalls and human statues, had become a tussle for walking space. According to her information Angela was being kept in the swanky 'Hotel Arts', a block of burnished glass caged in a skeleton of white girders, which she could see towering above the Olympic village area a mile further along the coast. She decided she would walk the rest of the way and try to get the girl on her own without too many of Hurt's people getting involved. Whether Hurt could be trusted or not, and she thought not, she would try to do this thing without any contributions of help. 

Which brought her round to Angela. The mere thought of the child, and she had thought of her often over the last couple of days, aroused a mixture of emotions that left her feeling confused. She had gone far enough to question her unlikely reaction to the photo and she had even tinkered with ideas represented by words usually banished from her vocabulary, like 'loneliness', but she had withdrawn from any real examination of her feelings out of an unfamiliar fear. Introspection did not suit her she decided and standing she forced herself to concentrate on the job in hand. She replaced her sunglasses and began walking through the port complex in the direction of the hotel. Dressed in summer clothes she easily blended in with the many tourists that milled about the shops and restaurants. 

Unmolested and hardly noticed she exchanged the noisy heat of the street for the air-conditioned tranquillity of the hotel lobby. A few minutes after giving her name to the receptionist she saw a tall serious-looking man leave one of the lifts opposite and stride towards her. Despite the fine cut of his suit she could see he was one of the hard men with which people like Hurt insisted on surrounding and from the way he moved she knew he was armed. He came straight over and asked sullenly: "Lara Croft?"

There was something about these goons that always released an irrepressible vein of mischief in her and she could never resist the temptation to tease them. "At your service," she replied cheerfully, "Mr...?" As he wrestled with his own surname she could see that even the simplest social situations were a struggle for him but he eventually came up with 'Reed'. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Reed," she shot back, offering her hand. With an effort Reed took it and grunted. Lara beamed a beautiful smile at him but also noted the gnarled strength in his handshake and warned herself not to push him too far. 

Reed's social skills didn't improve much in the lift to the twelfth floor, Lara mercilessly bombarding him with a series of social pleasantries and questions about Catalan culture that he made no effort to respond to. Although she knew there was little sense in making enemies without good reason she couldn't help but show bullies like this how they failed to intimidate her. Reed was also one of Hurt's men and she now transferred the defiance she had felt during their original interview to this rude incarnation of his power. The lift slowed to a halt and Reed indicated the open doors with a nod. Lara moved ahead of him, feeling like she should have the muzzle of a gun digging in her ribs. By the time they arrived at the double doors of the suite Reed had had enough time to think up some form of retaliation. Leaning forward to open the doors he turned and said: "Time the kid had a real nanny anyway. I'm up to here with the squealin'." Lara's pride ignited like gunpowder; saying nothing she lifted her hand and slipped her sunglasses slowly down to the tip of her nose, unveiling her clear hostile eyes. Reed was hard and she knew he wouldn't scare easily but she was rewarded with a feeling of satisfaction when he blinked.

Although it was bright and sunny outside it was stuffy and dark in the large suite and Lara could see no sign of Angela in the gloom. She walked over to the drawn curtains and ripping them open allowed the sunlight to flood in; still no Angela. She glanced over at Reed who was standing like a bouncer and who nodded in the direction of a side door in response to her questioning look. Lara walked over to it and entered. 

Before she'd finished taking a step into the room she froze. On the far side of the small bedroom the large windows that looked out over the busy road below were wide open. Beyond the windows was a narrow balcony and what made her heart boom was the sight of Angela perched on the balcony rail with an immense drop below. The girl hadn't heard Lara enter and instead seemed fascinated by the activity in the street. As quietly as she could Lara edged slowly round the perimeter of the room, entering Angela's field of vision gradually to avoid startling her. Her back against the far wall she inched to within a metre or so of the girl, who seemed to be enjoying the way the warm breeze rushed against her and lifted her hair away from her face. She was smiling and still hadn't noticed Lara who crept ever nearer. 

Lara took another step and saw the smile disappear, the child's jerk of surprise and her arms start to flail an instant after a man's angry voice shouted: "Get the fuck off that balcony, now." Angela had slipped but the strength of the wind seemed to hold her for a moment before she actually began to fall. That fraction of a moment was all Lara needed to leap the final distance between herself and the girl, her arms full stretch and her hands clawed like talons. The metal rail of the balcony crashed into her chest, winding her but she had the girl tightly in her grip and dangling by her foot like a rag doll. "Help me, you oaf," Lara shouted to Reed but he was already there hauling both of them into the room. Lara shook herself from his fist and grabbed Angela who was in shock and still hadn't started crying yet.

"Try anything like that again," Reed shouted them, "and I'll throw the pair of you off the balcony."

__

He wakes up once he has someone to threaten at last, observed Lara but letting it lie she raised her palm out to silence him and keep him at a distance. Hugging Angela to her hip she slowly walked her into the main room. The child's shock was beginning to crack and the girl was now crying loudly in between huge gasping breaths. As Lara sat her down on the large sofa Reed came back and took up his bouncer stance nearby. "Go take a walk, Reed," Lara said quietly from her kneeling position in front of the child where she was trying to calm her down. Reed didn't move so Lara looked up at him and said: "I thought you've been waiting for a nanny? Well let me get on with it." He looked down at her, not with anger but with a professional distaste that he didn't try or was unable to conceal. At the same time Lara could sense him battling with some conflict in his mind - _orders probably_, she thought. She didn't look away from his hard stare and again saw him blink before he left the hotel room, slamming the door behind him. As Lara turned back to attend to the child she was thinking that although Reed was hard, he was also weak.

Meanwhile Angela had calmed down a little and her crying had become a rhythmic sobbing. Events had moved too quickly for her to think about who this strange woman was and why she was there. The extent of her need for comfort after her shock made her accept Lara unconditionally and now she put her arms around her neck as the last sobs died away. This gesture unsettled Lara, which was unusual enough without her having to deal with the sudden unexpected sensation of relief that flooded through her. She was supposed to be comforting the child and now here she was soaking up this affection like a parched plant in a shower. For a few seconds she closed her eyes and buried her face in the warm fragrance of the child's hair. She heard the words: "Thank you," but couldn't tell whether it was Angela or herself who had said them. "OK. Everything's OK now," said Lara, "let's go." She stood with a dozing Angela clasped against her and left the hotel room.

In the lobby Reed watched them pass through the sliding doors into the bright sunlight. He turned to the public telephone behind him and dialled. When his call was answered he said: "Smiley? Yeah, they just left."

   [1]: mailto:stokesneil@yahoo.es



	5. Smiley's People

Lara Croft in the Search for Xanadu ****

Lara Croft in the Search for Xanadu

By

Neil Stokes

[stokesneil@yahoo.es][1]

This story contains some violence and bad language.

Thanks to Eva, Chris and Jess.

Tomb Raider, Lara Croft, her image and likeness are trademark and copyright © of EIDOS Interactive and Core Design. No infringement or challenge to these copyrights is intended.

****

* * * *

****

Chapter 5: Smiley's People"Why?"

"Because I like it that way," answered Lara.

"Why?"

"Because if I plait it, it stops it getting in the way."

"Why?" asked Angela for what seemed like the millionth time.

Lara changed tack: "Look, do you want an ice cream or not?"

Angela thought for a moment. "Maybe," she said as she swung her legs back and forth beneath the bench seat. They were sitting on an esplanade lined with palm trees that hid the hotel and the marina beyond and shielded them from the hot midday sun. At this time in the afternoon there was only the odd tourist making for the beach. They had been talking and had got somewhere on the bonding front - the hotel incident seemed just about forgotten and Lara was relieved to see that Angela had recovered so well so quickly. "You can have my clip if you want, Lara," said Angela reaching up to her hair and extracting an orange butterfly shaped hair clip.

"Thanks," replied Lara, "but you might need it."

"No," insisted the girl, "I want you to have it. I don't need it."

Lara smiled. She felt gratitude out of all proportion with the cheap hair-clip the girl was offering. "Thank you, Angela. Thank you very much," she said, glad that her sunglasses where in place to hide the emotion that stung her eyes. _What the hell's the matter with me_, she wondered as she attached the clip to her braid.

"You're welcome," said Angela, the adult phrase sounding unnaturally formulaic. "Oh, look at that puppy," she suddenly cried, getting down from the bench and running over to where an old man strolled with a miniature dog. Lara let her go, watching her bend down to pat the animal. The old man smiled and spoke to her but she didn't seem to mind that she couldn't understand what he was saying; she listened politely.

Although Lara had no experience with kids she could see that Angela was a good example of the species and Lara was quite pleased with the way she had handled her so far. Before coming out to Barcelona she had let her initial feelings of attraction run free without trying to force them into a context. She had read all the stuff Hurt had sent of course and knew Angela's story well. Her mother had been a celebrated university professor who had died during childbirth; her father an unknown archaeologist who had been taking the girl with him on his travels for the last few years. Hardly a stable upbringing but Lara guessed she had gained in other ways - she was tough for her age especially in her adaptability. Then there was the Xanadu connection. Cotting had written that Angela was the key to the Orb of Longing before he had died in that hotel room. Or rather before he had been murdered by Hurt's people as she tended to think of it. She knew she had to start digging into all of that soon. Angela was happily fussing over the dog but it was clear the old man wanted to move on. Lara stood up. "How about that ice cream?" she shouted over.

Angela stood too and the old man took the opportunity to continue his walk. "Maybe," she said, thinking for a moment before raising her arm and pointing in the direction of a shopping mall on the other side of the trees where a hand-painted sign read 'SKATE HIRE'. "Lara, can we go skating?"

* * * * *

Lara spun round, skating backwards. Angela was already some way behind but Lara was impressed; her movements showed a child's clumsiness but there was also a determination to succeed that kept her on her skates. She approached, puffing exaggeratedly and suddenly realising she didn't know how to stop. Her face took on an expression of alarm as she went crashing into Lara, who was knocked backwards and with a whoop fell to the floor laughing. The girl lay in a giggling heap on top of Lara, who raised her head to look at her. "The secret to in-line skating is stopping. I guess you hadn't worked that out yet."

"Show me, then" answered the girl, piqued.

Lara got to her feet once again and looked down, saying: "Don't do anything for the moment. Just watch and then you can have a go." She drifted away across the square. As she got to the far side she slid her right foot forward and pressed the heel down, forcing the brake against the concrete. She came to a gradual halt. Turning to beckon Angela she looked across the square but the girl wasn't there. Lara didn't do anything at first except listen to the sudden thump of her heart. She'd been having fun and had let her guard down, breaking her own rules. Lara didn't stop to wait for the girl to appear from round a corner; she was already furiously skating to where she had left her. In a moment she was skidding to a halt, had scanned the area and was moving off towards the shopping mall. A young couple, almost certainly tourists, were passing through the glass sliding doors as she arrived but Lara didn't slow down. Reaching out she grabbed the man's arm and used him to swing herself around until she was facing him, finishing her manoeuvre by pulling him towards her until their noses were almost touching: "Did you see a young girl just then?"

The man couldn't speak at first and then he started trying to pull his arm out of Lara's grip: "What the ...?"

"Tell me!" Shouted Lara with such fury that the man cringed and said: "Yeah, I saw a girl. What's...?"

"A dark-haired girl. Chinese looking."

"No this one was blonde and she was on skates."

"That's the one," said Lara, letting the man go, spinning and skating into the mall.

As it was afternoon the shops were closed and the place was largely deserted. Lara was moving down a short corridor that connected with a set of stairs that spiralled down around a central lift shaft. The stairs gave access to several levels and as she approached the centre she could see she was on the highest. She was moving fast, the stairs suddenly at her feet. Turning her body she came out of a 360º spin, thrusting out her leg, jamming her skate against the shiny floor and stopping herself immediately. From where she was standing at the edge of the wide stairwell she could see down into the complex. She scanned each floor, following the profile of the stairs as far as the lowest level where she spotted three men in casual clothes. The one in front was older and leaner than the other two who, from their identical height, bulk and movement, were clearly twins. The older man had a wriggling, kicking Angela crammed under his arm and his other hand pressed over her face, preventing her from screaming. The three of them were hurrying but the struggling child was proving to be a handful. _Rob Smiley!_

__

Rob Smiley. Rob Smiley. Rob Smiley. The name, like a chant inside her head, provided a rhythm to skate to as she headed back down the corridor, stopped, turned and began pushing powerfully in the direction of the stairs once more. _Rob Smiley. Rob Smiley_. On the marble floor of the shopping centre her speed increased. _Rob Smiley_. The open stairwell came into view. _Rob Smiley_. At the last instant when she was about to go crashing into the protective balustrade she leapt, bending her knees and pulling her feet up as high as possible. As she sailed over the stairs she suddenly straightened her legs and smashed her skates at the stair-rail, jamming the metal in the space between the two inside wheels. She bent her knees and held out her arms for balance like a surfer as she slipped down the spiralling metal rail in a shower of sparks. "Rob Smiley!" she screamed as she swooped down.

The man holding Angela stopped where he was at the bottom. He was trying to control Angela, forcing his two accomplices to step in and help. Lara swept briefly out of view behind the lift shaft as she made her sliding descent. Looking upwards, Rob Smiley's weathered face broke into a broad grin and as Lara appeared again he let out a long whistle of appreciation. In a flash of yellow, crooked teeth the twins revealed their extreme ugliness at the same time as drawing pistols from their coats. The one nearest to Lara tried to raise his gun but Angela, with a well aimed blow to the solar plexus, left him gasping and giving Lara time to pass around the other side of the central shaft. She could hear Smiley's thick Australian accent shout: "Lara Croft, you are just the most fucking beautiful creature on this planet. How can I compete with that?"

Lara ducked down as far as she could when she saw that she was about to slide back into view. "You can't," she shouted back. "Now let the girl go."

"You see, that's what gets me about you!" Lara was back into the open and she could see that one of the twins had wrapped his arms around Angela, finally immobilising her while Smiley was still grinning but with anger in his voice: "you think you're the fucking bee's knees. Haven't you seen Pimp and Pump here? Don't you think you may be outnumbered?"

One of the twins let go a volley of deafening gunfire in Lara's direction but she was already gone. Throwing her weight backwards, pulling her skates off the rail, she flipped head over heels. Her skates arced downwards as her body began to right itself and her feet came down with such force that when they smashed into Pimp he crumpled under her instantly. Lara bounced off his prone body and fell to the floor. A second later she was back on her feet, her skates wedged against the stairs and Pimp's gun aimed at Pump who, having shoved Angela into Smiley's arms, was aiming right back. Smiley was halfway across the floor of the complex, the kicking, screaming Angela still under his arm when Lara commanded: "Let the girl go, Smiley or..."

"Or what?" Smiley taunted, stopping and dodging a flung elbow from the girl. "I got a gun too, y'know." He had reached the entrance to the underground car park on the far side. Out of the corner of her eye Lara could see the glint of metal. Pump's shallow reptilian eyes stared while his crazy smile stretched into inches of pale gum and stained tombstone teeth. A saliva-flecked hiss escaped as, laughing at her predicament, he replaced his firearm and bent to help his groaning twin to his feet. One supporting the other they hobbled down the stairs to where Smiley stood. Smiley laughed, shouting: "Pimp's not going to forget you, Lara. As if any of us could. Come on boys."

Lara watched him back out of the door into the car park, dragging the sobbing Angela. She saw the pleading terror in the girl's eyes as she twisted her head trying to keep Lara in view as long as possible. Before they disappeared, Lara shouted: "Don't worry Angela. I'll come and get you." She waited a few moments and was about to follow when she heard a gun cock behind her and a man's voice shouting in Spanish. She turned and saw two policemen, their pistols drawn, aiming at her while they barked instructions. Flicking the safety catch Lara let Pimp's gun drop to the ground as she said out loud to herself: "Everyone's pointing guns at me today."

   [1]: mailto:stokesneil@yahoo.es



	6. The Great Escape

Lara Croft in the Search for Xanadu ****

Lara Croft in the Search for Xanadu

By

Neil Stokes

[stokesneil@yahoo.es][1]

This story contains some violence and bad language.

Thanks to Eva, Chris and Jess.

Tomb Raider, Lara Croft, her image and likeness are trademark and copyright © of EIDOS Interactive and Core Design. No infringement or challenge to these copyrights is intended.

* * * *

****

Chapter 6: The Great Escape

Lara Croft was on her knees while the youngest of the policeman behind her forced her wrists into handcuffs and snapped them shut. Meanwhile she watched his older, fatter partner speaking into a radio with his back to her. _Calling for reinforcements,_ thought Lara. _Am I really that dangerous?_ she asked herself. Leaving the question hanging, she considered her situation. Lara had only one worry at this point. The fact that she had been arrested in a foreign country for illegal possession of a firearm and that her hands were handcuffed behind her back did not worry her in the least - par for the course. What caused her concern was losing Angela. In her mind she saw the intimate spark of trust in Angela's eyes; no one had ever looked at her with such faith before. She was little more than a stranger and aware of how fragile that trust was and vowed to get her back straight away. _Get her back!_ She smiled to herself as she thought how she and Smiley, normally in competition for artefacts, were now competing for the custody of a child_._

The monotonous voice of the policeman reading her rights brought her mind back into focus. With cool accuracy she considered possibilities; three to five minutes before reinforcements arrived; four exits she knew of in the vicinity but no real choice because she was going after Smiley; the absence of passers-by made her think more police were already involved. The officer on the radio still had his back turned. The policeman behind her was close and she could feel his leg against her side. For the moment he was occupied; nothing to wait for, she went into action. She buried the back of her head into the policeman's groin with all the force she could muster. She heard him wheeze and sensed him bend over her. Straightening, she stood as quickly and as rigidly as possible, smashing the top of her rising head into his down-turned face. It hurt but not as much as it had hurt him. There was a cracking sound, a single yelp of pain and the dull thud of the policeman's body hitting the deck while Lara was already skating away fast, her legs thrusting to the rhythm of the distant sirens.

The other policeman had dropped his radio and despite his surprise had managed to draw his gun but before his befuddled mind could get him to raise it, Lara had disappeared. He sprinted down the rest of the stairs, stopping at the bottom and looking around frantically. His hearing was first to sense anything. With a screech of metal, one foot extended in front like a soccer player intercepting a ball, Lara skidded across the shiny floor. A second later her outstretched skate made contact with the policeman's shin and with a scream he went into a sprawling dive as Lara's momentum carried her on beneath him. She bounced back onto her feet as the officer slammed face down onto the floor behind her.

Making for the open door of the car park she noticed a short flight of stairs beyond the doorway but without reducing speed she spun round, skating backwards and looking over her shoulder. She counted out seconds in her head as the first of the concrete steps slipped beneath her and she began to take the rest two at a time. At the bottom she planted one skate beneath her and stretched out her other leg, swinging round 360º and taking in the extent of the car park as she did so. There was no sign of Angela or her abductors but she'd seen the curling ramp that presumably led out to the street. Before setting off she sat and, rolling backwards, pulled her feet up and passed her skates through the loop of her handcuffed hands. The cuffs were still a major problem but at least they no longer clamped her hands behind her back; the limited movement of her shoulders was going to be necessary. 

She started skating again, heading for the ramp ahead. As she drew nearer she realised just how steep it was; uphill wasn't going to be easy. Undeterred, she found a rhythm and piled on the force, her powerful thighs pumping hard. As soon as she hit the upward slope all her speed disappeared but she'd been expecting it and pushed even harder until her thigh muscles reached bursting point. Her progress was slow and within seconds she was exhausted; her breathing began to falter and her pace slowed as the ramp went on and on until she was hardly moving. It didn't matter as long as she kept pushing and avoided a slide back down to the bottom. She began to grunt with each thrust, swearing at the torture in her legs and lungs. Just as she was rejecting the latest overpowering temptation to stop, feeling in a rush of exaggerated agony flooded her body. She lay on the pavement gasping for breath, almost giggling with relief. 

The respite was short lived because she was already back on her skates and moving on legs that felt like solid rubber down the pavement behind the shopping centre. She could hear the police sirens clearly now and a lot of crowd noise coming from a large group of bystanders gathered at the far corner of the building. Lara approached from behind and walking on her skates slipped in among them. Everybody was looking at the entrance of the complex where an array of police cars, their doors open and their lights and sirens on, were drawn up in a random formation. There were policemen everywhere; pushing at the crowd, waving on the cars that slowed to look, running in and out of the mall. One group with shotguns were splitting up in order to surround the building. Lara scanned the scene, looking out for Angela, Smiley or the twins. She couldn't see any civilians at all in the cordoned off area. Of course they would be far away by now and Lara feared for the girl, despite the spirited resistance she had exhibited in the mall. Anyway, there were more urgent matters to attend to, like her own escape. 

Detaching herself from the crowd she crouched and let herself roll down the middle of the street, which joined the avenue at right angles. She kept low using the parked cars as cover. When she reached the junction of the two roads she didn't stop but floated out into the centre at the same moment as a car was passing. She extended her handcuffed hands, grabbing the bumper tightly and letting herself be dragged along by the moving vehicle. Almost immediately she heard another car approaching from behind on the right. It was travelling faster than the one she was skitching on and as it passed she let go and reached over to grab its bumper. Her timing was impeccable although the sudden increase in speed nearly broke her grip. Praying the car wouldn't suddenly stop she left the shopping mall behind, the cars on the inside lane shielding her from the deployed policemen.

Despite the handcuffs she managed to make another change of car into the outside lane as the traffic came to the end of the long avenue. Glancing behind she saw a police car approaching and knew she'd have to get as far away as possible if she wanted to avoid detection. The car she was skitching on began to slow as it came to the lights, the police car behind getting nearer by the second. Lara let go as the car came to a halt and slipped silently between the two outside lines of vehicles, trying to keep one eye on the traffic lights and hoping they wouldn't change before she arrived. The front vehicle was only one car length away when she saw the red light dim. She crouched even lower, squeezing a tiny bit more speed out of her slowing skates. As the lights went to green and she saw the first car jerk as the driver put it into gear, her outstretched hands made contact with the rubber bumper. It picked up speed and Lara Croft, thinking _So much for Picasso, Miró and Gaudí_, was borne away into the centre of Barcelona.

   [1]: mailto:stokesneil@yahoo.es



	7. The Mongol King

Lara Croft in the Search for Xanadu ****

Lara Croft in the Search for Xanadu

By

Neil Stokes

[stokesneil@yahoo.es][1]

This story contains some violence and bad language.

Thanks to Eva, Chris and Jess.

Tomb Raider, Lara Croft, her image and likeness are trademark and copyright © of EIDOS Interactive and Core Design. No infringement or challenge to these copyrights is intended.

****

* * * *

****

Chapter 7: The Mongol King

"Please. I beg you not to worry my dear. It could have happened to anyone." Hurt's hand slipped down the entire length of Lara's naked thigh and squeezed. His touch brought her back to the present, by which time Hurt was safely pacing the other side of the office. For the first time in two days Lara Croft stopped thinking about Angela and from the stout leather armchair in front of Hurt's vast desk, where she sat slumped as if exhausted, she stared at Hurt over the top of her sunglasses with unconcealed contempt. "In fact, I'm glad it was you," he went on, "anyone else would have made a complete balls up of it."

"_Really_?" she spat sarcastically.

"Of course!" bellowed the smiling Hurt, turning and moving rapidly towards her.

__

Coming for another stroke? thought Lara who jumped out of the armchair and strode over to the enormous window behind the desk. Biting her thumbnail she surveyed the sluggish Thames; its colour matched the rain-laden sky above. Hurt was instantly at her shoulder, his dry voice whispering in her ear: "My dear Lara. My trust in you is total." He gently placed one of his immaculately manicured hands on her shoulder: tantamount to patting a wild tiger under the circumstances. One of them was saved by the telephone buzzer that suddenly shrieked from the desk. Hurt answered with annoyance: "Send him in."

The bulky Reed stepped into the elegant office. Seeming all the more uncomfortable in his finely tailored suit he approached the desk and said: "China." Hurt cocked a questioning eyebrow but Lara had understood and now faced him, her sunglasses concealing the desperation in her eyes. "Where in China?" she asked urgently. Reed ignored her and continued to stare at his master as if Hurt had been the one to ask. "Beijing. They were spotted two days ago. Buying equipment, provisions. Weapons."

"Angela. What about the girl?" cut in Lara.

Reed continued to stare past her and went on: "They were last seen heading west." He cast his eyes down reluctantly at Lara. "The girl was with them."

Lara wheeled round to look at Hurt. "I go tonight," she almost shouted.

"Yes, I think you ought to," said Hurt. "Although they could be anywhere by now."

"No. I know where they are."

"Of course, Beijing. The great Kublai Khan, 'The Sun of Heaven', the fourth son of the fourth son of the warrior king Genghis Khan, host to Marco Polo...," Hurt began to pace the office again, waving his hands pompously, "...completed the Mongol conquest of China that his illustrious grandfather had begun and made his capital, Ta-tu, north-east of the Chin city, Chung-tu now known as Beijing." Lara sighed and looked at her feet while Reed continued to stare straight ahead. "Ta-tu is Coleridge's Xanadu and there, if I am not mistaken, lies the Pleasure Dome." Hurt held out his hands and shrugged his shoulders as if to say: 'It's as simple as that!'

"Stow the history lesson, Hurt." Lara shook her head slightly as she let herself flop into the armchair once more. "Didn't you hear him? He said they went west."

Hurt looked thoughtful for a moment before snapping his fingers and exclaiming: "Mongolia!"

Lara gave a dull laugh. "Well done. You keep this up and you might just pass your exams. But Mongolia's a big place."

Hurt's face took on an intrigued expression. Smiling he asked: "Where then?"

"You said yourself that Cotting wasn't that good an archaeologist." Lara slung a leg over the arm of the chair. "He had a vague idea of what was going on, but most of the documents you passed on to me were confused. I'd even say they'd been tampered with."

"But no-one except the Police had been in that room where the poor man was found," protested Hurt.

"No-one but the murderer," added Lara.

Hurt seemed shocked: "Surely you don't think Mr. Smiley..."

"You know very well that Smiley would do anything to get his grubby paws on an artefact like the Orb," interrupted Lara. "It doesn't really matter anyway: the fact is he knows the location of the Dome and he has Angela."

"Ah, the key." Hurt nodded in thought before adding dramatically: "Poor, poor girl. My heart goes out to her." _Like hell!_ thought Lara but restrained herself. She still knew Hurt had more to do with Cotting's death than he was letting on and she rejected his good guy act. "Enlighten us, my dear." Hurt made a sweeping gesture that included the unflinching Reed. "Where in Mongolia is the Pleasure Dome?"

"That's for me to know and you to find out."

Hurt leapt angrily to his feet but regaining his composure asked smoothly: "How do you know all this, Lara?"

For the first time in days Lara smiled. It was an icy smile that complemented the cold glint of her sunglasses. "I'm the best. And don't you remember? You only ever have the best."

   [1]: mailto:stokesneil@yahoo.es



	8. The Sunless Sea'

XANADU-Ch8 ****

Lara Croft in the Search for Xanadu

By

Neil Stokes

[stokesneil@yahoo.es][1]

This story contains some violence and bad language.

Thanks to Eva, Chris and Jess.

Tomb Raider, Lara Croft, her image and likeness are trademark and copyright © of EIDOS Interactive and Core Design. No infringement or challenge to these copyrights is intended.

* * * *

****

Chapter 8: 'The Sunless Sea'

Lara Croft, waist-deep in the spiked grass that flowed as far as the horizon, watched the pale sun rise into a cloudless sky. The air was chill but refreshing after a night trussed up in a stuffy sleeping bag. Despite the hard ground and the insects she felt good and would have had an untroubled mind if it weren't for her thoughts of Angela. Over the last few days during the meetings with Hurt and her rapid but efficient preparations her fears for the child had rarely left her in peace. For a solitary unsentimental woman like Lara Croft the challenge of coming to terms with a spontaneous affection of the sort she had for the girl would be hard enough but the anxiety, of an almost maternal intensity, had removed even the little satisfaction she normally managed to squeeze from everyday life away from the tombs. She felt so much better now that the tomb raiding was really about to begin.

She cracked open the breech of her shotgun, slotting in cartridges while she concentrated on her next move. Here in the Popular Republic of Mongolia she was in Xanadu and before her a ragged hole in the ground gave access to caves; Coleridge's 'caverns measureless to man' that were supposed to lead to the Pleasure Dome. She cared less for finding the 'sunless sea', the 'fertile ground' or the 'forests ancient as the hills' of the poem than simply getting Angela out of there. And she knew that Angela was in those caves because Angela was with Smiley. Lara kicked an empty beer can out of the way: Smiley had been here. Accompanied by his sidekicks Pimp and Pump, he had left a trail a mile-wide that effectively invited Lara along their route: Cottting's route. Lara was now more convinced than ever that Smiley had something to do with Cotting's murder, at any rate his notes had obviously found their way into his hands. Her own conclusions drawn from hasty investigations made in the few days since Angela was taken pointed to the exact same spot she was standing on now. Shouldering her pack she swung her legs over the edge of the hole and began to carefully lower herself, hand over hand, into the darkness.

It was a long climb and treacherous in the blackness that engulfed her like a wave after the first few metres. She made slow progress in the light of the tiny torch she had gripped between her teeth. Forced to inhale through her nose, her breathing was seriously limited, adding to the general discomfort caused by the rough stone against her fingertips and the cramp in her neck from looking down and trying to see where the next foothold would be. After a while the discomfort was dulled by the mechanical cohesion of her movements and above all by the narrative of her thoughts that streamed unobtrusively in the background. She thought, with an irrepressible shudder, of how difficult it must have been to get Angela down this rock face; the girl could not have managed it by herself and a child would only seem small and light for a very short time. It hadn't been Smiley who had carried her, that was for sure - the man, well into middle age, didn't look after himself and must have surely used up any resources of spirit on a thousand grave robberies. It must have been one of the hideous twins he went around with. She had only seen them for a few moments in Barcelona but that had been enough for a lifetime. It wasn't the individual physical defects marring their appearance so much as the lack of any human warmth whatsoever in their dull eyes that had repulsed her. As her boots scraped against the uneven floor of the rock shaft she prayed yet again that Angela was all right.

The small torch didn't give off anywhere near enough light in the oppressive darkness so she lit a flare. She was in a damp twisting tunnel that ended behind her at the sheer rock face she had just descended. Ahead the tunnel snaked away into the black silence beyond the flare's light and although it showed the irregular forms of natural erosion, the general direction seemed to be downwards. As the flare started to choke Lara memorised as much of the scene as possible and re-lighting her torch set off. In the faintly warm silence of the caves she felt at home and this familiarity helped her to concentrate on what little of her surroundings were revealed by the thin beam of light she was following and to dispel the distracting worries about Angela.

Guided by her common sense and experience Lara made rapid progress through the tunnel. Stepping carefully over the slippery rocks and stalagmites scattered along her route she was on the lookout for intersections that would complicate matters by providing her with a difficult decision. It was only a matter of time and after a while she came to a fork. Left or right? Right or left? She'd been in this situation many times and the decision was never an easy one; topographical clues were of negligible use she'd discovered, often to her cost. Another flare showed the fork to the left as the widest with a high jagged ceiling. It was by far the most inviting compared with the descending ribbon of space that cut off to the right. Thrusting her hand into the pocket of her canvas shorts she pulled out the only piece of equipment she could think to help her out of this predicament: a coin. She balanced the pound coin on her thumb and paused to mentally assign heads to one of the tunnels before flicking it into the air. Immediately she held out her palm to catch the coin when it fell, but it never did. For a moment she imagined she must have missed it in the reduced glow of the flare but there had been no noise. Raising the flare above her head she looked upwards and there it was, precariously balanced on the bottom rung of an ancient iron ladder coated with rust. Lara smiled to herself and shook her head. _Up!_

In spite of her initial fears about the ladder holding her weight it seemed strong enough once she had caught hold of the bottom and began climbing. In fact a few minutes later she had left it behind and was crawling on all fours down a narrow man-made shaft that seemed never-ending. The shaft was completely straight and sloped downwards slightly. In the cramped crawling space the air was dull and musty; her laboured breathing sounded harsh and loud, it's echo giving her the impression of being pursued by some panting creature. She continued crawling without pause despite the fatigue and the jabbing pain she felt in her knees. After a long time the shaft began to level out and she could see a faint silvery glow in the distance. As she came closer she saw it was an opening, the end of the tunnel through which a pale delicate sheen like moonlight allowed her to put away the torch and investigate. Cautiously poking her head through the opening Lara's eyes widened in fascination at the sight before her. "Wow!" she said out loud.

Hundreds of metres below the hole, which was about halfway up a sheer cliff face, lay the 'sunless sea' of Coleridge's poem. An enormous lake, silent and still, its surface shone like polished silver in an unworldly light that emanated from the surrounding rocks. She was amazed and kneeling there could only stare in disbelief at this stone that appeared illuminated from within. The lake was ringed on three sides by towering cliffs of shining stone while on the far side from where she squinted she could make out a silver beach with a jetty and beyond that dark hills and ghostly woods. Further in the distance still, framed by an impenetrable darkness like a silver moon, stood the Pleasure Dome. Lara's eye wandered back from the beautiful translucent Dome and over the hills, which where too far away and too shrouded in darkness for her to discern any details. The fantasy beach of silvery glowing pebbles was nearer and she could see a small boat tied to the jetty. It was a modern inflatable boat with oars and the sight of it brought Angela back into her mind. She was on Smiley's trail all right but she had no idea how far ahead they were; the walk to the Dome could be a day or two away. She prayed for Angela's safety yet again before telling herself to stop gawking and get on with it.

The cliff was almost perpendicular to the black lake below and she had little appetite to attempt the climb down its smooth glowing surface. A witness would have assumed she was stuck with no choice other than making her way back and searching for another route. However, they would have seen Lara Croft inch further out onto a tiny ledge before standing with her legs fused together and her arms stretched out to her sides. They would have noted her closed eyes and the series of deep, controlled breaths taken at the same time as she bent her knees slightly. In disbelief they would have seen her suddenly launch herself into the air, upwards and away from the cliff face as she brought her arms together and plummet in a graceful unswerving swallow dive into the water below.

   [1]: mailto:stokesneil@yahoo.es



	9. Raison d'être'

Lara Croft in the Search for Xanadu ****

Lara Croft in the Search for Xanadu

By

Neil Stokes

[stokesneil@yahoo.es][1]

This story contains some violence and bad language.

Thanks to Eva, Chris and Jess.

Tomb Raider, Lara Croft, her image and likeness are trademark and copyright © of EIDOS Interactive and Core Design. No infringement or challenge to these copyrights is intended.

****

* * * *

****

Chapter 9: '_Raison d'être'_

Squeezing the last of the excess water from her braid Lara Croft contemplated the serenity of the sunless sea, which in its placid beauty showed no sign of her long freezing swim. Shivering she stood and checked her equipment but always keeping one eye on the irresistible sight of the Pleasure Dome in the far distance. She had spent part of her time in the icy water thinking about Angela and her abductors; she couldn't imagine how they had managed to descend the cliff face she had dived from. It was only when she finally arrived at the beach with the jetty that she saw more, smaller beaches on the opposite side, scooped out of the rocky base of the cliffs and some of which led into the black gaping mouths of caves. Before continuing with her journey she inspected the inflatable raft left by Smiley and the twins looking for clues and signs of Angela. She found nothing of interest and soon gave up, pausing only to check it was tied up correctly: she didn't intend to stay down here forever and she certainly didn't fancy another swim. Still she wasn't ready to leave, despite her urgency to find the girl she felt the need to turn and look once more at the incomparable sight she had passed through. 

It was at that moment, surrounded by the shimmering light radiating from the rocks and reflected throughout the cavern by the mirror of the lake, standing within a scene from fable that few had ever witnessed and none for hundreds of years that Lara Croft truly felt complete. This is what she trawled the globe in search of; this privilege was her final motivation or had been until Angela came along. Turning towards the hills, the child with the sweet smile and the trusting nature once more entered her thoughts. Lara could be honest with herself when she considered how little finding the Orb of Longing really mattered to her when at one time it would have meant everything. In the space of a few short days her accepted world had dissolved before the needs of an orphan at the mercy of greedy brutal men. Saving Angela now appeared to Lara as a quest well worth risking a life for and a quest that promised a treasure at its end far more valuable than any precious stone, even if it were the largest in the world.

Her progress over the next few hours was slower than she had hoped. Although the gently undulating hills between the lake and the forest provided no real obstacle, the constant darkness once the shining rocks had been left behind steadily ate away at her stock of flares. The magnificent Dome in the distance would have perhaps produced all the light she needed if it hadn't been obscured by the tall forbidding trees of the forest ahead. Past experience had taught Lara not to complacently trust in an instinctive sense of direction; even the slightest deviation in a route, multiplied a thousand times with each step, could lead the unwitting traveller into a circling trap with only exhaustion at its end, or worse. Partly to rest but also to check her compass in the thin beam of light from her torch she stopped often, sometimes lighting a flare to judge her immediate surroundings. After a number of hours of this her watch told her it was past midnight in the outside world although in this immense cavern no change in the atmosphere could be detected. This threw up another danger she had learnt to be aware of; without the cycle of day and night beneath ground the traveller would continue without stopping to claim essential rest. Her fears for Angela and her impatience to catch up with Smiley tempted her to forego a lengthy stop but her experience and common sense took control and in the light of another flare she began preparing herself for sleep.

It was the sound of a gun that woke her. Over time her subconscious mind had become attuned to many random sounds of danger: the soft pad of a stalking animal or the creak of loosening rock but most of all the clink of gunmetal. Pausing only to allow her quickly waking mind to regain control she eased herself onto her haunches and tried to penetrate the blackness around with eyes acutely trained to adjust to the dark. A rippling glow of flame silhouetted the hill behind her as it approached, along with the quiet yet distinctive sound of boots treading on grass and the light jingle of carried equipment. A gruff whisper from the group beyond the hill's summit set her in motion. Reaching only for her shotgun she jogged silently in the opposite direction towards where she knew the forest started. As she arrived at the first of the grey trees torches lit up the terrain immediately behind her. She rounded the bole of a tree and squatting against its trunk looked back over her shoulder. A line of eight men filed into the hollow below the hill where she had been sleeping and where her equipment now advertised her recent presence. They were young and strong looking, wearing khaki uniforms and armed to the teeth. All except one; in a perfectly laundered sky blue safari suit, unencumbered by a rucksack or a weapon and now, with a look of mild interest on his handsome face, bending to examine her resting place, was Hurt. Lara's grip on the shotgun tightened involuntarily when she recognised him but she continued to squat immobile and observe.

Hurt straightened, brushing non-existent dust from his trouser legs, and beckoned to the group. The largest of the waiting men detached himself from the guard formation they had automatically arranged themselves in and the inexpressive Reed lumbered over to talk to his chief. Lara could not hear from their whispering what they said but after Reed returned to the group to pass on Hurt's orders she saw the men fan out in a semicircle and start walking in the direction of the forest where she crouched. The torches had been left with Hurt, making him an easy target as he snapped shut a cigarette case and calmly watched his private soldiers in action. Lara re-focused her attention on the line of approaching mercenaries, who had attached flashlights to the muzzles of their automatic rifles and who were slowly approaching. Resisting the instinctive urge to act no matter how precipitate or to cower hoping they would pass by without noticing her, Lara assessed the situation. Six men obviously highly trained, heavily armed and therefore extremely dangerous. She could cope with six she decided, especially in this darkness. Resting her chin on the barrel of her shotgun she considered further; six lives to douse for the sake of a jewel and even for the sake of a little girl seemed too high a price too pay at this point.

Slim beams of light from the rifles slicing through the gaps in the foliage, the crunch of boots on the dry earth while Lara stood, sliding her back against the bole of the tree. As the nearest of the men came into view she swivelled and hammered the butt of her shotgun as hard as she could into his surprised face. As he collapsed his rifle spurted into life, spitting a volley of bullets into the ground, followed by a longer burst from the others which shattered the dry bark of the tree where Lara was supposed to have been. Strands of torchlight furious swept the area as the men searched for something to aim at while two of the soldiers cautiously dragged their moaning companion away to safety by his heels.

Hurt, abandoned by his studied insouciance, took a few shocked steps backwards with the still unlit cigarette dangling forgotten from his dry lips. He opened his mouth to speak out to the men, who had reformed and were once more approaching the tree line, but before he could say anything he felt the cold touch of metal on the back of his neck. From behind, a gloved hand shot past his ear and Lara positioned the flaming Zippo she held so he could light his cigarette. Still flustered but acutely aware of the shotgun barrel pressing against his skin Hurt bent his head forward as calmly as he could and accepted the light. "I'll read the health warnings on the packets in future," he whispered in a shaky voice.

"If," Lara hissed, "you have a future."

"I do love you, Lara. You know that?" he said more calmly as if taking a strange comfort from her presence despite the shotgun.

"Call your dogs to heel, Hurt," she ordered.

Hurt spat out his cigarette and did as she instructed. The men, surprised, confused and impressed by the scene were recalled by Reed and led back mumbling towards where Lara stood behind Hurt.

"Far enough," she shouted, placing her boot into the crook of Hurt's knee and forcing him to the ground while she levelled the shotgun at the sullen group of soldiers who stood opposite, their rifles pointing safely downwards. "Come on, boys," she cried in a mocking tone, "you know what to do."

One by one, the soldiers placed their rifles on the ground and knelt beside them with their hands folded behind their heads, all except Reed, who glowered at Lara. "Not joining in, Mr Reed?" asked Lara. "You always were one to go it alone." Reed continued to stare at her but a movement of his eyes betrayed an understanding of her words that confirmed Lara's suspicions and prompted her to continue speaking: "While we're all here. Why don't you tell your uncle Hurt just what a bad boy you've been?"

From his kneeling position Hurt looked up into her face and then questioningly at Reed. "What does she mean, Rupert?" he asked.

Lara snorted in laughter: "Rupert?"

Reed ignored her and looking into Hurt's eyes said: "She's lying, boss."

"No she isn't," replied Hurt, glancing at the still smiling Lara and then back at Reed, "is she?"

"Of course, I'm not." Lara snapped. "For Heaven's sake, it's pretty obvious. How the bloody hell do you think Smiley knew how to get to this place when Cotting and his murderer, young Rupert here, were the only ones who had access to the maps?"

"You betrayed me?" asked Hurt in a shocked voice. "What were you hoping to achieve?"

Reed hung his head like a chastised schoolboy while Lara said: "You'll get over it. Now...whoa, boy down." Before she could finish her sentence Hurt had leapt to his feet and was running at the disgraced Reed. Lara raised her shotgun to fire but let it drop on seeing the soldiers grabbing at their rifles. She rolled to the ground away from the stream of bullets that slapped into the dust behind her. Her roll brought her to her feet and she sprinted for the cover of the trees while the mercenaries re-aimed and the infuriated Hurt clawed viciously at Reed, oblivious to the action taking place around them. Beyond Hurt's screeching and the metallic beat of automatic gunfire, the hiss of her adrenaline charged blood deafened Lara as she sped for the relative safety of the forest. As the line of trees drew nearer she launched into a long-reaching dive that became a powerful flip leaving her some metres away on her feet and racing into the darkness ahead.

   [1]: mailto:stokesneil@yahoo.es



	10. Unarmed and Dangerous

Lara Croft in the Search for Xanadu ****

Lara Croft in the Search for Xanadu

By

Neil Stokes

[stokesneil@yahoo.es][1]

This story contains some violence and bad language.

Thanks to Eva, Chris and Jess.

Tomb Raider, Lara Croft, her image and likeness are trademark and copyright © of EIDOS Interactive and Core Design. No infringement or challenge to these copyrights is intended.

****

* * * *

****

Chapter 10: Unarmed and Dangerous

Six hours of trudging through the monotonous darkness beneath the interlocking canopy of spectral trees found a tired dispirited Lara Croft once more checking her compass by the light of her torch; two of the few objects she had managed to escape with. Brief rest stops in the previous hours had done little to dispel the hovering threat of exhaustion or the hunger she dared not kill with toadstools and cancerous fungi - the only vegetation to flourish in this subterranean night. Moreover, stopping brought Hurt's band nearer for she was convinced they would be tracking her, not to mention her desire to catch up with Smiley. And yet, reaching the Pleasure Dome, rescuing Angela and getting them both out had become long-term ambitions as the hours passed, one need becoming ever more pressing - to reach the end of the forest.

Her wish was granted sooner than she expected when she broke through the final line of dusty trees onto a sandy ridge overlooking a valley. The land below her feet swooped down into bleak shadows that lurked in the deep depression before rising steeply, gaining in height and forming a barricade of cliffs at the base of a wide plateau which held the greatest single achievement of the Mongol emperor, Kubla Khan - the Pleasure Dome. Majestic in scale though elegant, its perfect symmetry and luminous splendour heightened by the darkness, the Dome's beauty was a staggering blow to the senses, stunning Lara into an amazement that immobilised her. She gaped on, feeling small and vulgar before such ostentation and faintly troubled by the magnificence of this tribute to one man's unquenchable ego. This building - if so mundane a word could be used - was the embodiment of an arrogance that made men believe themselves gods. The tomb raider inside her growled - the rebellious spirit of desecration that fuelled her purpose and filled her with her own special arrogance, protecting her from such obscene beauty and reducing the Dome to the status of prey. 

The sight re-energised her and continuing from the ridge she moved quickly across the dull earth into the depths of the valley. The slopes beneath the ridge were reasonably bare of trees and the few scattered rocks around and about were no obstruction, providing her with plenty of opportunities to contemplate the gigantic Dome seated on its throne of rock above. The light emanating from the structure was the same unearthly silver she had seen streaming from the rock formations around the Sunless Sea. Apart from illuminating the plateau on which the Dome sat it penetrated into the dark valley and lit her path almost to the very bottom which as she drew nearer she noticed was cracked open revealing the gaping mouth of a gorge. 

The approaching cliffs had almost obscured the Dome by the time she reached this gorge, looking like a ragged wound in the floor of the valley; only the Dome's apex was now visible surrounded by a silver halo. As if for the last time she stopped to stare a moment, trying to trace some detail on its wonderfully smooth surface before finally lowering her gaze and peering curiously into the dark chasm below. Glinting faintly in the poor light she could just make out a torrent of water, a mere silvery thread from this perspective, that dissipated in the black distance either end. The only means of crossing was a slender sagging bridge spanning the narrowest section some way along the gorge's rim. She was jogging lightly along the edge towards the bridge when a distant clap of gunfire forced her into a crouch, her hands instinctively plucking at her hips for her absent 9mms.

High above on the ridge stood Hurt with the stock of an automatic rifle wedged against his hip as he fired into the air, his men rushing down the slope. Lara straightened and broke into a sprint that brought her to the bridge in a matter of seconds. She skidded to a halt and despite her urgency took the time to examine the structure more closely before stepping onto it. It was made of ancient slats of timber that looked like slate in their age-blackened state. Thick hairy ropes showed through sleeves of what once must have been a decorative, finely woven material meant to disguise the mundane construction but which now hung in tatters like the rags on a long forgotten skeleton. Hesitating, she calculated the risks of using the bridge while in the back of her mind a voice pointed out that the shots fired so far had merely been in warning. She spun round to take in her pursuers; the mercenaries too busy hurtling down the slope to stop and fire their weapons; Hurt still shooting into the air atop the ridge like an Indian chief encouraging his braves.

Switching her attention back to the troops Lara saw the first man, smaller and faster than the others, had almost reached her. As the distance between them narrowed she positioned herself squarely facing him, presenting a target for his wild charging. On arriving he raised his rifle like a club while Lara, suddenly twisting her body 90 degrees and then back again, whipped a knee into his stomach that left him on all fours gasping for air. Within seconds she was spraying the hillside with bullets, sending the other men scrambling for cover while the sole of her boot, clamped into the nape of her victim's neck, crushed his face into the ground. In the few precious instants of safety that followed while the crouching men waited for the next volley of gunfire Lara reached down and dragged the soldier to his feet, groggy and barely able to breathe from his winding. With the collar of his tunic bunched in her fist she maintained a constant pressure on his windpipe while she walked him backwards, using him as a shield from the inevitable return fire. The soldier's misfortune increased when Lara, the muzzle of the rifle resting in the crook of his neck, let go with another wild volley of firing which kept the others on their bellies but which severely scorched his face, drawing from him a high-pitched screaming. "Don't be a baby," she said to him as they got to the bridge. The other men spread out on the slope above had organised a steady, alternate firing which covered them as they made their way towards their objective and ending the misery of Lara's shield whose legs buckled beneath his blood drenched body. As he slumped at her feet she dropped the empty rifle while snatching his dagger from his belt, tumbled and came up sprinting in the opposite direction in a swarm of bullets.

Miraculously she got to the other side unharmed and in fact the rate of fire from Hurt's men had almost died out completely as they concentrated on covering the last of the sloping ground. Sounds of boots clomping over wood as the first of them pounded across the bridge while Lara hacked away at the nearest rope with the large combat dagger. Despite its thickness the material was dry with age and the dagger new and sharp – the rope gave way in a whiplash that hurled the nearest soldier into the black chasm and caused the bridge to tilt violently. As the men lurched and threw themselves about in search of a handhold Lara began on another rope. Much of the tension in the bridge had already been lost with her first cut and while less spectacular the loss of the second rope increased the tilting and sent the men scrabbling back the way they had come. Lara now on her third rope, looked up to see the mercenaries fleeing and purposefully slowed her work to give them time to reach the rim of the gorge before the bridge swooped away from her and shattered against the rock wall opposite.

Slowly she stood, tired and shaken from the recent action and discontent with her success - the heavy feeling of depression that invariably crept upon her when she had killed. Despite the threat within shooting range her energy had deserted her and she could find no fear to galvanise her into completing her escape. She watched dumbly as one of Hurt's men lifted his rifle and took aim, her legs leaden and the knife hanging loosely in her limp hand. She watched him settle his cheek tenderly against the metal, saw him expel the air from his lungs and imagined the pupil of his eye flare as he fixed his target. As his finger contracted on the trigger feeling returned, seeping outwards from some defiant core deep inside and spreading slowly, too slowly. Then suddenly Hurt was there flapping his arms and shouting insults while the soldier lowered the rifle, throwing up an arm to protect himself from his boss' violence. Having subdued his man Hurt looked across the chasm, his eyes twitching nervously as he searched; Lara Croft was nowhere to be seen.

   [1]: mailto:stokesneil@yahoo.es



	11. The Brothers Grim

Lara Croft in the Search for Xanadu ****

Lara Croft in the Search for Xanadu

By

Neil Stokes

[stokesneil@yahoo.es][1]

This story contains some violence and bad language.

Thanks to Eva, Chris and Jess.

Tomb Raider, Lara Croft, her image and likeness are trademark and copyright © of EIDOS Interactive and Core Design. No infringement or challenge to these copyrights is intended.

****

* * * *

****

Chapter 11: The Brothers Grim

Back to the darkness of caves, the illusory protection of limitless rock. Hiding, resting, sleeping - anything but moving while her jumping heart cooled and the violence flickered into memory. Perched high on a ledge Lara Croft now knelt and peered down into the hallway - the man-made hallway hacked through the cliffs that supported the Dome - her mouth stretching wide to accommodate the yawn that rolled up through her chest and into the stuffy air of the cavern. In her adrenaline charged state she had hardly noticed the elaborate stone archway carved into the foot of the cliff. Without looking back she had made her way through the darkness with the certainty of a sleepwalker until coming to a section of crumbled wall, she had climbed to her present vantage point to regain her strength through sleep.

Angela had woken her, nudging her mind into consideration of her next step. Confident that Hurt and his men were stranded on the far side of the gorge she could think forward to her meeting with Smiley, his repulsive sidekicks and of course Angela. Lara had no sign of them but she knew they had come this way; she would find them either somewhere along this subterranean highway or in the Dome itself. The Orb would be there too, maybe. The thought of plunder caused her tomb raiding instincts to flare momentarily but like a match struck in the wind the interest was extinguished by the full force of her concern for the kidnapped girl.

The Dome lay above, a thousand feet of rock between, the threat of its beauty suggested by the geometric artistry of this slave built cavern. The walls were cleanly cut and adorned with carvings depicting the glorious history of the Mongols now obscured by the dust of centuries. Lara, dropping lightly to the intricate tiling of the floor, imagined the multicoloured drapes, rich hangings and lanterns long since perished by time. Walking where Kubla Khan had once passed in state she let her mind unreel the footage of her imagination: the Emperor, grave and self-confident, shunning the offered litter, desiring his own regal but mortal feet to carry him to the Dome where, merely one whispered wish away, immortality waited. She noticed the ground rising - a good sign. But Kubla had never made that wish and she saw him bend a thousand times over the wonderful, glittering Orb while some flaw in his ego prevented him uttering the sacred words that would bring it to life and make him a god. He had died peacefully in his sleep. The broad pavement of the entrance cavern ended at a flight of stone steps that spiralled up into the darkness. Lara stopped and looking back into the absence of light let her thoughts shift from Kubla to Hurt. She now realised that no chasm, no matter how wide, would provide a big enough obstacle to Hurt's immense ambition. She turned and began climbing the tall steps reflecting now on Smiley: was he after the largest diamond in the world or that one deadly wish?

Time passed rapidly as she drove herself hard through the catacombs of the cliff's interior, tempted by narrow crinkled stairways and resisting the tantalising glimpses of treasure-filled chambers and salons, always keeping to the main path and moving steadily upwards towards the Dome. The feeble light from her dying torch barely kept the darkness away, slowing her, as did the warm underground air thick with the centuries of dust she disturbed with her climbing progress. She rested but never for long - the promise of reaching Angela harrying her on to movement. Eventually her haste was rewarded.

Rounding another bend in the main staircase her deprived senses seized on a faint trace of light which thickened as she scraped her back against the wall, inching towards its source with a burgeoning sense of dread mixed with hope and excitement. As the light grew it also began to move - the reflected waving of firelight coming directly through an open doorway now at her shoulder. She gently eased herself forward, swivelling her head, scanning the interior with a glittering eye. A spacious hall, completely bare, its walls and ceiling hidden by the shadows that lurked at the perimeter of the firelight's range. The fire itself had been lit to one side, restricting her view and obliging her to bend further into the open doorway. Her heart pounded above the low indecipherable buzz of talk rising from the three figures seated like chieftains around the campfire. She ignored it and them for the moment, her eye roving now, searching for the diminutive form of Angela. Panic threatened to blossom inside her as she swept the room one more time and a voice in her head pleaded for a sign of the girl.

As if in answer one of the seated figures hauled itself to its feet - Pimp or Pump? In her agitation she couldn't find the necessary detachment to make an ID; just following his silhouette as he strolled into the shadows beyond the rim of firelight. He returned with Angela asleep in his arms - a reflex almost carried Lara bursting into the room. At the boundary of shadow he suddenly stopped and turning, stared straight at her, alerted by the sense of being watched. She batted away the instinctual response of pulling back out of sight and froze instead, trying to become part of the furniture. Pump - she could see it was him; a touch lighter than his brother and if possible even uglier - continued to stare, expressionless apart from his open questioning mouth. Lara hardly dared to breathe as the accumulated rage and frustration clamoured for action inside her; the sight of the peacefully sleeping Angela the only fragile barrier in her fight for self control. Then she lost it. 

As her mind fought to calculate her options she watched as an involuntary string of saliva abseiled from Pump's gawping mouth, coming to rest on the burnished surface of Angela's hair. At the sight of this sacrilege her rage erupted, bubbling over into a screaming charge that sent her hurtling into the room like a banshee in search of blood. Despite the power in her anger there was no control and seconds later she found herself pinned beneath the weight of Smiley and Pimp, while Pump tried to quieten the woken Angela by out screaming her. The girl was having none of it: ignoring Lara's shout of warning she pounded at Pump with her small fists.

Through a veil of fury and panic Lara experienced the events of the next few moments as a series of confused disconnected highlights: the blurred movement of limbs, physical pain and brief shots of Angela biting and then slapped as she struggled with the brute energy of a small wild animal. Lara's own resistance came to an end with a heavy immobilising blow that seemed to set her brain spinning in her skull followed by an acute stabbing sensation as one of the men dragged her by her hair towards the fire. Gathering what strength remained she tried to raise herself until a cold metallic click at her temple revealed Smiley aiming his pistol at her from point blank range. "Damn it, Lara", he said through blood stained teeth where an elbow had caught him. "That was fun!" Somewhere a twin sniggered moronically.

Disdainfully ignoring the pistol, she turned her head to look at Angela, who was quietly weeping at Pump's side, one shoulder hunched as if waiting for the next blow, her eyes cast sideways in hate at the man at her side. "Don't worry, darling," said Lara. "It's all going to be OK."

"Sure it is," called Smiley in a jolly voice. "Why don't you give your auntie Lara a big kiss?" he said to the girl, waving his gun casually between them.

Angela didn't need telling twice, flinging herself at the prone Lara and burying her tear-blotched face into her shoulder. Lara whispered reassurances quietly into the child's ear and listened to the child's anger and fear without taking her eyes off their captors. Smiley, his gun still in his hand walked around to the other side of the fire and dropped to the ground, muttering to himself about not being so young anymore. The twins stayed standing at the edge of the firelight out of view although Lara could hear Pimp forcing breath through his crooked nose while his brother, lost in his own madness, continued to snigger gently. "How long were you out there watching?" Smiley asked, not expecting an answer and not getting one. "He's got a great nose that, Pump. Smell pussy a mile off."

"Not that he gets much," added Pimp, his thick voice coming from the darkness. Lara resisted the temptation to turn and glare, while Pump's snigger became a brief howl of hysteria that he suddenly choked off.

Smiley ignored both of them and continued: "Now we ain't got much time here, so lets get down to it straight away. This is how it goes, Lara mate. Before I hand you over to the boys here, you tell me what Hurt's up to. I know that stuck-up bastard's around here somewhere and I also know you ran into him otherwise you would've walked in here with more than a war cry and plucky British spirit." Staring into his wrinkled eyes Lara considered what to give away and what to hide in order to get them out of there. But Smiley's gaze was equally piercing and he seemed to be able to read her mind. "Now, I know what you're thinking but we're not trading here, Lara. I want you to understand that. We don't need anything from you; we've got all the data thanks to Rupert, we've got our young virgin, Angela here..."

__

Virgin! What the...? It was all she could do not to shout out and show Smiley how little she knew. To cover her alarm she quickly interrupted: "Reed's dead by the way. Hurt found out about your little arrangement and he's on his way."

"Poor old Rupert," Smiley intoned in a mock-sympathetic voice. "Look, I don't give much of a shit about Hurt and he's certainly not the cavalry as far as you're concerned so you can forget that. Nevertheless, I am curious so spill the beans and we can get on our way." He sat back waiting, the pistol carelessly balanced on one knee. "Stupid bitch," he added as an afterthought.

Lara forced herself to smile while she restrained Angela, who had risen to her feet in Lara's defence. She was thinking hard but not many realistic options offered themselves. Smiley sighed and continued: "OK, Lara mate. I can see you're not going to tell me so I'll have to leave that to the boys here while me and Angie get a move on." Smiley stood and clicked his fingers: "Come on now brat, time to get a going."

Angela responded with a surprising variety of colourful language garnered from archaeological digs, grabbing Lara tighter still as Pimp prised her away and passed her screaming and kicking to Smiley. Each time the girl called her name so desperately was like a blow to Lara, who had risen to her knees and was trying to maintain the girl's attention. "It's OK," she repeated again and again. "I'll come and get you. I won't be long."

It took a dry cuff from Smiley to quieten the child, bringing a furious Lara instantly to her feet so that Pimp and Pump intervened and lowered her back to the floor. Despite the coolness she exhibited Lara was incandescent with anger inside, only her fears for Angela preventing her from some desperate chaotic act of violence. Staring fixedly at the girl in the hope of calming her she saw from the corner of her eye how Smiley shouldered a rifle, a rucksack and bent for a lantern. Half dragging, half carrying the weeping Angela he moved over to the far side of the room, the light of his torch revealing a huge pair of closed ornate double doors. He looked back briefly before turning and pushing at one of the doors, waited while it swung open silently and fluidly, allowing a silvery light to the flood the chamber behind him. Dwarfed in the gigantic open doorway Smiley turned again to face his henchman and the restrained Lara. "The entrance to the Pleasure Dome. Pretty, ain't it? Adios Lara, and boys, don't take too long we're on a schedule here!"

* * * * *

Barely a shift in weight, much less an attempt at standing and the bright tongue of steel came flickering out of nowhere, its cold edge pressed against the soft skin of her throat. The low hiss of Pimp's voice: "Not leaving the party already, are you? It's only just started." His scrawny dishevelled form came into view, her own knife held steadily before him as he squatted in front of her, the jumping light of the flames nearby distorting his already hideous features. His brother, appearing at his shoulder, dragged himself along on his knees, his reptilian eyes wide and expectant, his chin bathed in the spittle of his unconfined excitement. As they looked their prize over, savouring the moment and reviewing whatever diabolical intentions running through their twisted minds, Lara forced the disarray of her feelings into something nearing order. She needed to gain time, to allow the possibilities for action to present themselves. "Where's he taking her?" she asked casually.

"Shut the fuck up!" shouted Pimp, getting himself into the right mood.

"If I don't talk, I can't tell you about Hurt. You heard him," nodding towards the open doors, "he wants to know."

"Shut up!" he spat out. "You'll talk all right - later. Right now, let's see those fuckers out in the open." He nodded at her breasts, his brother thumping him on the back and whooping in encouragement. When she made no move Pimp leaned forward, the tip of the knife extended to slice open the front of her T-shirt. Still too early for the inevitable violence, she couldn't stop her hand flashing out and grasping his wrist, her strong fingers raking the flesh until his furious eyes filled with pain. With his free arm he swung at her and landed a stinging blow on her cheek that broke the contact and left her tentatively prodding the side of her face. The delighted Pump bounced gleefully as he watched her return to her sitting position. "Hey," he called over and as she looked he reached down to the front of his trousers, cupping his genitals in both hands and pretending to wave them at her. Again she couldn't help herself and looked away in disgust. "Hey, bitch. Don't get offended. Soon you gonna be seein' these balls real close." He rolled back and forth laughing gormlessly at his own witticism. Pimp meanwhile was on his feet, towering over her: "Enough. Get them tits out. Do it sexy. Do it NOW!" he roared. 

Lara's patience failed her. Sitting as she was she simply hooked her feet around the inside of his ankles and with all the strength in her powerful thighs, snapped her legs open to their full extent. Surprise and pain competed in Pimp's expression, as he stood frozen in an almost comical posture - the tendons in his legs stretched beyond their limits, his knees automatically bent inwards to compensate. Pump, too stupid to realise what was happening, clapped encouragingly as Lara, sitting like a gymnast on the beam, butted Pimp as hard as she could in the groin. He managed a faint croak as he fell forward onto his face, occupying the space that Lara had just vacated. Rolling onto her back, lifting herself into a handstand and flipping her extended legs over her head, she now stood facing the twins in the smouldering light of the fire.

Pump, finally catching on, his face contorting in anger, began to rise. He got as far as kneeling before Lara's sledgehammer kick into the side of his head sent him sprawling towards the flames. Turning her attention back to Pimp she saw a hand blindly fumbling for the knife. Lara stepped quickly into the air and brought both of her booted feet crashing down onto his outstretched hand, dragging from him a high-pitched yelp that was suddenly drowned out by a desperate screaming from behind. Pump was rolling in agony on the ground, his head a ball of flame where his hair had caught fire. Lara stood between them balancing recovery times in her mind. She saw Pimp, still face down making an effort to stand and so turning towards him she sought out the weak spot like a predator, raised one leg and kicked powerfully with her heel into the narrow joint between the back of his head and his unsupported neck. His body seemed to deflate as it slumped immobile. Meanwhile, his brother had managed to extinguish the flames and lay on his back whimpering and attempting to scrub away the pain in his blackened pate. His anxiety increased as he watched Lara snatch up the knife and begin walking slowly towards him. Her smile had a demonic cast in the reflected light of the fire's embers and sent him scampering backwards, pain replaced by fear. "So," she asked casually, "want to play 'Doctors and Nurses'?" Raising the blade she tested its edge with her thumb. A thick globule of dark blood welled up and without deflecting her stare from Pump's terrified eyes she slowly slid her extended thumb between her lips, closing her eyes as if savouring a sensual pleasure and gently removing it with a soft sucking sound: "Now then, Pump," she said, hefting the knife, "let's see these balls you promised to show me."

   [1]: mailto:stokesneil@yahoo.es



	12. Child's Play

Lara Croft in the Search for Xanadu  
  
By  
  
Neil Stokes  
  
stokesneil@yahoo.es  
  
This story contains some violence and bad language.  
  
Thanks to Eva, Chris and Jess.  
  
Tomb Raider, Lara Croft, her image and likeness are trademark and copyright © of EIDOS Interactive and Core Design. No infringement or challenge to these copyrights is intended.  
  
* * * *  
  
Chapter 12: Child's Play  
  
Standing upright on the tip of its tail, its golden claws gripping the air, the huge dragon mounted, coil upon coil, towards the apex of the Dome. The interior walls were like a bright silver sky dwarfing the immense static dragon and over-arching the tiled floor where Lara Croft now stood. Her searching gaze traced the winding form of the dragon; an immense spiral staircase of gold-leafed wooden steps cut into its back. Hundreds of feet above she could make out the dragon's head partly obscured by a circular dais, which sat like a broad collar around its neck. Taking another hurried bite of the ration she had found in the twin's rucksack her stare once more followed the dragon's spine of steps, hoping to catch sight of Angela and Smiley. There was no sign of life from this distance but trusting the tomb raiding instincts that had guided her safely through countless trap- infested dungeons she sensed the Orb waiting there high above and knew Smiley would not be far behind.  
  
Placing a booted foot on the first of the steps she reviewed the situation as she climbed, allowing unbidden fears and worries to intrude and display themselves against the canvas of her judgement. Passing over Pimp and Pump her thoughts first centred on Hurt; he would follow, would find a way across the chasm and through the catacombs but she also felt he could be dismissed from this race that was now so near its end. Her main problem was Smiley and thinking of him summoned a wave of angry, unspoken threats should Angela suffer any more from his insane greed. She increased her pace, stepping lightly and confidently, the steps sliding beneath her feet like an escalator. Virgin? The word, archaic and faintly absurd, reverberated at the back of her mind, emphasising Angela's predicament and intensifying Lara's determination to prevent the girl becoming a victim to whatever extents of brutality these men were willing to go to in their quest for power.  
  
"Lara!"  
  
Her thoughts scattered. Freezing in mid stride Lara half knelt as she swivelled, searching, a heavy Magnum confiscated from the twins held tightly in her outstretched fists. Angela, out of sight somewhere above had shouted her name. "Lara. Lara," it came again; an intense, breathless scream that contained all of the girl's fear and hope. Suppressing the temptation to shout back and reveal her position Lara continued to scan what she could see of the staircase above. Nothing - just the next level of steps stretching away and bending round the following twist in the dragon's body. Then she caught a movement high up, silhouetted against the intense brightness of the Dome's ceiling; Angela's head bobbed out of view and another cry, muffled and desperate unleashed Lara's strength in a sprint that carried her flying up the wooden steps. Up, up and up she drove herself, unaware of her laboured breathing and her aching thighs; the Magnum swung in rhythm at her side, keeping pace, biding its time. Her speed outstripped her mind, which slowly revolved around one fixed thought: Get Angela!  
  
Intent on her progress she almost by-passed her objective when hurtling round yet another bend she spotted them. On one of the enormous forearms of the dragon, which jutted out from the body beyond the high, carved handrail stood Smiley with Angela before him like a hostage. There was fear in his eyes and a gun in his hand, the barrel pressed firmly against the girl's head. Angela, her face streaked by crying, shook uncontrollably as her body, possessed by terror, came to the limit of perseverance. Still, on catching sight of Lara a faint flicker of hope moved briefly across her pale shocked face. She prised open her mouth to speak: "OK, it's all OK. I'm here now. Everything's going to be fine," interrupted Lara softly, trying to smile.  
  
"No it ain't, Lara," said Smiley in a shaky voice. "It almost certainly is not." He looked old: his pale face sagging and blending with the grey in his hair. Lara could see he had given up, that he saw her presence as a failure he had no energy to reverse. Her first reaction was: Fuck him, but in threatening Angela he had a last desperate measure of control and she knew he wouldn't give it up. She eased the pressure; lowering the Magnum to her side, she distracted him from the movement by stretching out her other empty hand in a gesture of offering. "Hey, Smiley it still ain't over," she said as lightly as she could, involuntarily mimicking his accent. Step by step she thought, first the gun and then get him to come down: "No guns, Smiley. Come on, you know there's no need for guns. We're tomb raiders not cowboys."  
  
"Hurt's coming," he said it as if talking about the bogeyman. Lara sensed him revelling in his fear. "You know what he's gonna do with this one?" nodding down at Angela. His smile was alarming but Lara took the advantage of the change of focus to talk to the girl: "Angela. It's OK. Show me it's OK." The girl stared straight into Lara's eyes, her blank expression unchanging but rewarding Lara with a slight nod.  
  
"What do you mean, Smiley?" she asked switching her gaze back.  
  
Smiley's grin was ghoul like: "He needs her blood. He needs a virgin's blood."  
  
"Were you going to go through with it?" she asked, repressing a rising feeling of revulsion.  
  
Smiley shrugged. "Maybe," he said. Then, as if remembering he was in charge, his voice became firmer: "Now, I'm getting out of here. Drop that there gun and we go our separate ways. Of course," he added more like his old self, "I'll be taking the Orb with me."  
  
Lara knew he was lying; she could taste his fear: He was alone and Hurt was coming so they were dead anyway; he wouldn't take any chances in saving his rotten, worthless skin. She checked on Angela; the girl still stood there petrified but on seeing Lara's look the shaking stopped. The girl, misinterpreting the message in Lara's eyes, nodded again and turning, shoved at Smiley with her shoulder. It was all over in an instant, leaving Lara standing there with her arm stretched out and horror scrawled across her face. Smiley had fired into the air as he slipped before jogging on the spot momentarily. His feet lost their hold and he fell grabbing at Angela but only succeeding in knocking her down. Stumbling backwards, tripping and falling through the open fingers of the dragon's raking hand, he came to rest on the upturned thumb, the claw - long, curved, sharp - had pierced his chest so that he lay suspended and spread-eagled face-up, soaked in his own blood. Angela was nowhere to be seen.  
  
The child's shrill cries for help proved superfluous as Lara had already hurdled the stair rail and was crouching on the dragon's shoulder. "I'm coming Angela, I'm coming," she called down. Angela was hanging by her fingers from the dragon's long, carved fetlock some metres below, her face an image of fright but quietly answering Lara's distracting questions as she watched her with trusting eyes. Conscious of how little time she had to get to the girl before her strength failed, Lara quickly let herself over the side and began her treacherous descent, the hanging girl whimpering as the pain in her fingers surrendered to numbness. As Lara looked down at the child she could see the tiled floor beyond, hundreds of feet below, black and shining malevolently in the Dome's light. Angela's hands, wet with fear, began to slip along the length of wood she was gripping; she cried out and Lara knew this was it. Wrapping her legs around the nearest wooden strand of fur she let go with her hands, dropping upside down like a trapeze artist and thrusting out her arms towards the girl just as Angela's sliding hands ran out of wood. For a fraction of a second the girl was suspended, clawing at space, before Lara's strong hands closed around her wrists, the girl weeping and Lara releasing a deep sigh of relief.  
  
CLAP! CLAP! CLAP! Applause in a slow, ironic beat. Hurt, standing on the staircase and backed by his henchmen, leant his elbows on the stair rail, cupping his chin in his hands and looking at the inverted Lara with adoring eyes: "I must say, Lara dear. You certainly do know how to put on a show." 


	13. The Orb of Longing

Lara Croft in the Search for Xanadu  
  
By  
  
Neil Stokes  
  
stokesneil@yahoo.es  
  
This story contains some violence and bad language.  
  
Thanks to Eva, Chris and Jess.  
  
Tomb Raider, Lara Croft, her image and likeness are trademark and copyright © of EIDOS Interactive and Core Design. No infringement or challenge to these copyrights is intended.  
  
* * * *  
  
Chapter 13: The Orb of Longing  
  
'"And close your eyes with holy dread, For he on honey-dew hath fed, And drunk the milk of Paradise."' Hurt, his eyes closed in contentment, ended his recital of 'Kubla Khan'. Lara, climbing the stairs at his side, hands cuffed behind her back and fingers interlocked with those of Angela, looked at him with contempt, undecided whether his pleasure originated from an appreciation of Coleridge's poem or from a smug enjoyment of his clipped recital. In fact she didn't care and turning her head away she looked down at the girl again. "You OK?" she asked with a smile. Angela smiled back unaware of any danger; she was merely happy to be in Lara's reassuring presence once more. Nodding, the girl squeezed her hand. Lara herself also drew hope from the child's presence; they were still alive, they still had a chance and Lara vowed not to let them down.  
  
"I was saying, my dear," Hurt's voice broke in on her thoughts, "that this whole unfortunate escapade will soon be at an end. Although you needn't worry, you will see how all the pain and effort will be made worthwhile."  
  
"The end doesn't always justify the means, you know." Lara decided to keep Hurt talking, to learn as much as possible.  
  
"Oh, I know," continued Hurt in his smooth voice. "However, it is not the case here."  
  
"Tell me," said Lara, "Smiley was going on about virgin's blood. What the hell was he talking about?"  
  
Hurt threw a sharp glance at her; his expression defensive for a moment until his sense of victory got the better of him. "I'm sure you're not going to like it, but I shall tell you." He cleared his throat while Lara felt a tingle of panic in her entrails. "I have a confession to make," he continued, "I retained certain information from you out of a fear of discouraging your acceptance of this mission. As we shall see, as soon as these infernal stairs come to an end, the Orb is very real and so are its wish-fulfilling properties." Noting Lara's look, he held up a hand to forestall any interruption. "The Dome is here and everything is as it was written, there is no reason why the rest - the instructions on how to awaken the Orb and invoke its powers - should not also be true. Unfortunately that traitorous hound Reed was corrupted by Smiley to whom he passed copies of these essential facts and, inefficient fool that he was, the only document showing the exact location of Xanadu. I admit, that in itself should have provoked my suspicions."  
  
"So you employed me to find Xanadu for you," added Lara.  
  
"Yes, once our conflict of interest became apparent. Although, let me assure you," he went on hurriedly, "the only reason I did not avail myself of your services sooner was that I foresaw certain moral reservations on your part." Hurt patted a folded handkerchief elegantly against his sweating brow as the unending flight of stairs took their toll.  
  
"I imagine that's where the virgin's blood comes into play?" prompted Lara, knowing the answer in advance.  
  
"There is always a price to pay, Lara dear. I'm afraid our little friend here will be picking up the bill." A threatening hiss escaped Lara and Hurt went on: "Forgive my vulgarity of expression but the walls have ears," he said nodding significantly at the girl who was looking elsewhere, unaware of the substance of his words.  
  
"You cannot do that," Lara stated flatly, barely capable of keeping the steel from her voice.  
  
"Of course, I'm hardly looking forward to it but the Orb cannot be woken by any other means. It will be a mercy in any event - no parents, a life of psychological uncertainty, poverty balanced against the privilege of bringing into the world the power to do so much good."  
  
"Good?" spat out Lara.  
  
"Good," affirmed Hurt. "I promise you this: once I have supreme power in my hands I shall use it responsibly to alleviate the woes of mankind. I have no desire to be a hated tyrant."  
  
"What a relief," Lara replied sarcastically. "I thought you were just going to have the time of your life."  
  
"Oh, that too, naturally. And you, Lara," he continued in a quieter, deeper voice, "being such a spirited woman of such impressive," stealing a glance at her chest, "abilities will make the perfect companion."  
  
"I wouldn't bet on it," growled Lara through clenched teeth.  
  
"We shall see, my love. But enough of this pleasant chatter," he said in response to a gesture from one of the mercenaries who, going on ahead, had reached the top of the stairs. "Behold, the Orb of Longing." The soldiers waiting at the entrance to the dais suspended around the neck of the dragon above them parted now that they had reached the top, passing Hurt, the handcuffed Lara and Angela up over the final steps. Unable to contain his excitement Hurt ran ahead, stopping in the centre of the wide marble disc on which they now stood with a look of greed sketched on his features; Lara and Angela were pushed forward by the men until they stood at his side.  
  
"What's going to happen now, Lara?" the girl asked, winding her arms around Lara's thigh while she placed a protective palm on the child's head.  
  
"Don't worry," Lara said, looking down at the girl and smiling, "we're going soon." Indeed, Lara had been waiting for the stairs' end in the hope of an opportunity of escape although looking around the wide dais she saw little to inspire her. The shining roof of the Dome arched far above the free standing dragon; no cables, ledges, ladders or crevices could be seen; the realisation that the stairs were the only way up or down caused her heart to sink. Together, flanked by the mercenaries, they gazed on the Orb; held between the dragon's gaping jaws, its size hardly feasible, it sparkled in the Dome's light with an intensity that caused Lara to lower her sunglasses. On either side of the dragon's head were two enormous jade statues of Mongol warriors in full armour, kneeling and holding out joined palms, like vassals offering their pledge to a king. Hurt, stepping forward, threw up his arms in a dramatic gesture of victory while Lara, who could feel Angela's hugging grip tighten around her leg, looked covetously at the stairs behind them.  
  
Hurt remained in this posture, savouring the moment while his soldiers began their work of preparation. Angela was torn away and Lara found herself roughly forced to a kneeling position by a guard who remained standing behind her, the barrel of his automatic rifle prodding her shoulder. The woman and the girl continued to talk to each other in low voices while the other mercenaries were moving around, leaving the baggage to one side where Lara spotted her rucksack, shotgun and holsters infuriatingly out of reach. One of the men drew a cloth wrapped parcel from a bag and approached Hurt, who accepted it from him, unwrapping it gingerly as if it contained crystal. Ordered to silence by a soldier, Lara kept one eye on Angela who was standing with a mercenary some way off and staring at her with wide questioning eyes. Lara winked at the girl, making her smile, while she secretly fumbled in the back pocket of her shorts, finally withdrawing a hair clip with an orange, plastic butterfly attached. As she carefully inserted the end of the clip into the keyhole of the cuffs, the memory of that happier time in Barcelona oppressed her. The parcel unwrapped, Hurt now turned back to face them: "Let it begin," he intoned dramatically extending one hand towards the child while the other held aloft a long, curved golden knife. His face, pale and waxen, distorted by a twisted smile, frightened Angela more than the knife; she shouted Lara's name, kicking and screaming against the soldier who dragged her towards Hurt while Lara dug and scraped with the clip in the keyhole, bellowing with all her strength: "NO!" In her agitation, shouting and held back by the impassive solider, Lara did not realise her hands were free until she saw the glinting knife raised high above Hurt's head.  
  
Despite the rapid series of events that followed, to Lara everything happened with the dull sound and sluggish action of underwater movement. The knife floating above the squirming girl as the mercenary's neck, forced into an impossible angle by the clamping strength of Lara's thighs, finally snapped. The knife beginning its gradual descent as another soldier, distracted from the sacrifice, shot at Lara but only succeeded in pumping a stream of bullets into the body of his dead companion while she was diving in Hurt's direction. The knife falling faster as one of the other soldiers charged at Lara, now preparing to leap cat like onto Hurt. Her feet had barely left the ground when the man, hugging her calves, brought her to the ground in a perfect tackle. The knife slashed sideways and swept across the girl's throat, releasing a brief fountain of blood that Hurt directed over the surface of the Orb, bathing the diamond and obscuring its beauty. The girl's body shuddered in spasm as her life drained away, a strangled gurgle of escaping breath the only sound as Lara and the soldiers, stunned into silence, watched Hurt unlock the powers of the Orb. Letting the child's twitching body fall to the ground, he took a step forward, bending over the diamond and watching with bulging eyes as a small spark of light deep within the stone's core began to slowly intensify.  
  
Lara lay immobile beneath the weight of the soldier, frozen by shock and unable to react; her mouth hung open in a silent scream of desperation, her limbs felt leaden and her mind was locked in a tortuous loop of horror that replayed the scene over and over again. Barely aware of being hauled to her feet and then supported by the mercenary when her limp legs would not hold her up, she stared longingly at Angela's dead body - still now and curled on the floor as if in sleep. Wrenching her gaze away Lara looked up with blank eyes and focussed on Hurt standing beyond the girl and bowed over the Orb. The diamond's internal light was still growing, spreading and silhouetting Hurt, who stood back, arms thrown wide in welcome as he laughed uncontrollably in his delight. Despite her paralysis Lara felt the soldier's grip on her shoulder tighten when the edge of burgeoning light touched the outstretched hands of the two jade statues kneeling on either side and they saw, quite clearly, the fingers twitch.  
  
Lara and the mercenaries looked on in amazement as the statues began to move, rousing themselves from their centuries of slumber with slow, creaking movements. Lost in his victory as he watched the Orb awaken, Hurt was completely unaware of the jade melting like ice from the warriors as they stood, taller than any mortal and with the grey skin of the dead. The soldiers, unsure whether this was part of the ceremony, did nothing as they watched the creatures draw their swords with a fluid, automatic motion. Hearing the unexpected whisper of sliding steel, Hurt turned his look of irritation changing to one of terror as he took in the scene of the now fully awakened warriors towering above him. His men finally reacting to the danger raised their weapons too late as the warriors spun in unison, their long sword blades swishing through the air as they turned to face each other. The first of the automatic rifles began to chatter as Hurt's severed head fell bouncing to the marble floor of the dais, rolled off the edge and was lost in the darkness below. Lara found herself unattended as she watched the huge Mongol warriors, the barrage of gunfire knocking them backwards but drawing no blood, turn towards the three remaining mercenaries.  
  
It was the howling that broke the thrall of misery and fascination that held her: a memory of another time associated with flight and fight, effort and fear, which in that case had led to pride in success - the time of the Scion when she had cut her teeth as a true tomb raider. Now her failure lay before her in the crumpled bloodless body of the child who had trusted her - this prize, far more valuable than any of the other gem encrusted artefacts she had withdrawn from dark dangerous dungeons, she could not take with her. This in a flash of understanding as once more the howling, the war cry of the Mongol warriors, provoked her into movement. Leaping over to where her equipment lay she saw one of the mercenaries, slapping at his jammed rifle, skewered from head to foot, while the other men had finally managed to down the other with their intense storm of gunfire. Lara shouldered her backpack and filled her holsters before turning towards the stairway in a hail of jade rubble as the defeated Mongol warrior splintered. She stopped at the head of the stairs and saw another soldier slain as he reloaded, the remaining mercenary backing across the dais, his gunfire slowing but far from finishing the warrior who steadily followed between the impact of the bullets. As the monstrous figure approached, the mercenary waved his empty rifle before him like a club. The howl of the war cry and the howl of the man's death agony merged and the warrior turned its dead eyes towards the head of the stairs, but Lara Croft was gone.  
  
* * * * *  
  
The grasslands seethed in the stiffening breeze of the approaching night. The sun hovered over the horizon as a gloved hand shot from an unseen crevice and raked at its dusty edge. The dirty fingers dug into the loose earth and flexed, the lean muscles of the forearms tightening as they pulled the figure clear of the hole. The head appeared; auburn hair made grey by dust, the long braid behind tattered and falling apart. Gradually the figure became visible: a shotgun, a scratched leather rucksack, a narrow waist, slim hips supporting a pair of glinting 9mm pistols and brown canvas shorts, torn and spattered with blood. Toned, sweat-streaked legs; a knee sporting a filthy binding; a booted foot claiming purchase on the crumbling edge. Silhouetted against the sky Lara Croft stood unsteadily and watched the flaring sun soak into the land. Day became night and she tumbled to the ground.  
  
Lara felt drained. The journey from the Dome had been a trial of endurance pushing her body to the limits of its capabilities but with the fortunate side effect of distracting her mind from the horror of Angela's loss. Sitting in the darkness while sleep beckoned, she rooted in her rucksack for a flare, unable to attribute her numbness to either physical exhaustion or to the profound depression lurking behind her shock. In the fizzing light she checked herself with the mechanical efficiency of habit, examining the bruises and grazes, and noticing for the first time an oozing gash on her thigh. Turning back to her pack she caught the rumour of a distant howl unwinding from the hole. Upright, a pistol in each fist, she targeted the pit and waited as the howl, a sound she had hoped never to hear again, was repeated. As the spluttering light of the flare began to fade she found herself exposed to an encroaching sea of blackness while the wailing edged closer.  
  
A movement beyond the flare's light and she opened fire, squeezing the triggers until the pistols clicked empty. Tossing them aside she bent and grabbed the shotgun, pumping out volley after volley until the last spent cartridge twirled smoking through the air. The howls turned to screams and Lara lowered the muzzle of the gun, letting out a tense sigh of relief into the new silence.  
  
A huge shadow sprang from the ground, sending the shotgun spinning from her grip as Lara choked for breath, her feet dangling in the air as the last jade warrior throttled her in its grasp. Sensing death seconds away, the grip around her throat tightened while the darkness swamped the spluttering flare and her brain begged for oxygen. As consciousness faded she saw her gloved hand holding a large hunting knife, slashing desperately at the screeching blackness before her. As suddenly as the sun had been extinguished she saw nothing more. 


	14. Game Over

Lara Croft in the Search for Xanadu  
  
By  
  
Neil Stokes  
  
stokesneil@yahoo.es  
  
This story contains some violence and bad language.  
  
Thanks to Eva, Chris and Jess.  
  
Tomb Raider, Lara Croft, her image and likeness are trademark and copyright © of EIDOS Interactive and Core Design. No infringement or challenge to these copyrights is intended.  
  
* * * *  
  
Chapter 14: Game Over  
  
Lara awoke to the clashing cymbals of panic. Shooting erect in the bed, a scream dredged from her horror-filled heart stuck in her burning throat, leaving her gagging on silence as a cool hand, briefly pressed against her forehead, lowered her back to the pillows. Gentle murmuring she did not understand wove itself into the substance of her dream - the blood splashing over the orb - and guided her into the bright sunlight of the present. She turned her head noting the pain grating in her neck and looked at the man sitting at the bedside. A shaven head, shining eyes behind slanted lids, a placid smile, the compact oriental body swathed in orange robes; the monk spoke, answering the questions in her distressed look: "Well," he affirmed, "well," and for one moment Lara felt a tingling sense of peace before the brutal truth returned and wrung tears from her eyes. "Dead," she mouthed, her damaged throat unable to vocalise the words, "Angela's dead." Although barely intelligible the monk seemed to understand and shaking his head whispered: "No. Nothing die. Only change." Through the weakness that suddenly flooded her body Lara managed a nod before her eyes closed and she receded into a quiet peaceful sleep.  
  
Over the next few days Lara slipped between sleeping and waking, hounded between the horror of her dreams and the even worse horror of reality, sometimes the two mixing in an unbearable cocktail of pain until eventually the fever burnt itself out. This time she awoke into the bright sunlight of the clean modest cell feeling weak and depressed but very much alive. Looking around at the bare whitewashed walls and the few sticks of functional furniture she saw that she was alone. She sat up in the bed, wincing at a flash of pain in her throat that she discovered was bandaged and which began to throb mercilessly - she knew without trying that she could not speak. With the regularity of a precise mechanism the images of Angela's death began to replay in her mind but without the convincing horror of her fevered dreams. Nevertheless the tears came in a quiet stream as she sobbed silently into the bedclothes.  
  
A monk, the same she had seen that first day of her fever, came into the room with a look of delighted surprise on seeing her sitting up; the same placid smile she remembered. He approached the bed, taking a seat beside her. "You well?" he asked. Lara nodded as she wiped away the last of her tears. "You want eat?" he said offering Lara a small bowl containing a variety of porridge. Lara took the bowl, at first merely to please him but after she had painfully swallowed a mouthful, hunger asserted itself and she ate the rest greedily while the monk spoke to her in his disjointed English: "I am Kim. You very bad condition when we find you." He went on to tell her how two of their number, returning to this remote community had come across her hanging half dead from the giant hand of a jade statue, her own hands still grasping a long knife that was buried in the figure's chest. They had been forced to shatter the statue's hand with chisels to free her before bringing her here to their monastery, where she had spent the last few days in the grip of a fever. Kim, speaking some English from a stay in Britain, had been assigned to look after her when they had discovered her passport. He now took the empty bowl. "I tell more later. Now you sleep." She watched his robed figure turn and silently leave the cell. As he did so, his words came to the forefront of her mind: Nothing die. Only change.  
  
Two days later she took a walk with Kim outside. Feeling quite fit; apart from her crushed throat, her other wounds were superficial. A cool breeze sweeping the grasslands, spread out beyond the garden where they walked, refreshed her, returning her strength. Kim told her of her illness, the monastery and himself, Lara encouraging him with gestures, using his quiet words as a mental shield to keep the horrors of her memory at bay. They came across other monks, working or strolling in the gardens, but while they were polite and friendly they kept their distance from her so that by the time night came with an enormous golden sun sinking rapidly below the horizon, she found herself alone with her protector. Turning to him in the failing light she made him understand the urgency she felt to be gone, despite her gratitude to him and his companions. "Not yet," he replied with a smile. "You still no strong. You stay here more and grow." Smarting with guilt at her subterfuge, she led him onto describing, purely for interest's sake, where they had found her. Unsuspecting and relieved to change the topic Kim repeated the story of her discovery, adding the geographical details she gently but persistently demanded until the sun was gone and he escorted her back to her cell, where she made him promise to show her the temple the next day.  
  
Kim arrived the next morning soon after the sun had reclaimed its dominance, eager to reveal to Lara the gilded treasures of his monastery. As he stepped into her room his placid smile faded on seeing the bed empty and Lara's clothes and equipment missing. Then something caught his eye and bending he picked up the sheet of paper lying on the bedside table:  
  
Dear Kim,  
  
I am so sorry for running away like this. Please, please forgive me. Your beautiful monastery offers such peace but unfortunately the peace I crave lies in another direction. I thank you and all your companions for the kindness you have shown me. A kindness I wish with all my heart I could stay and repay, but I must go. On the very first day you said something to me that has helped me above all else to recover: 'Nothing die. Only change'.  
  
I thank you for it.  
  
Lara Croft.  
  
Kim looked up from the note and stared through the wafting curtains at the rolling grassland beyond, a placid smile once more on his face.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Lara Croft stepped tentatively onto the marble dais, pausing for a second before she allowed her gaze to settle on the scene so familiar to her imagination. Shards of jade statue littered the spaces between the dead soldiers in their petrified postures of agony. Hurt's headless body lay spread-eagled beyond, a thick brown stain of dried blood blossoming across the white floor. And behind him Angela still curled as if in sleep, her back to the trembling Lara who now approached on unsteady legs, her sight blurred by the tears that ran continuously down her cheeks. Crouching beside the girl's body, she reached out and let the golden hair fall through her fingers before turning over the small stiff body and looking into her white face. She bent further and laid a kiss on her brow, the coldness against her lips drawing out a long hacking sob despite her ravaged throat. Glad that she was unable to voice insufficient words of regret, she continued to stare for some time until her tears finally ran dry and she was able to turn her face away.  
  
Stepping now over to where Hurt's body lay she bent, shuddering at the touch of his frozen skin, and carefully prised the sacrificial dagger from his stiff fingers. She straightened, casting another glance at the girl before striding over to the Orb. For a moment, she considered its ingenuous beauty, sparkling in the reflected light of the Dome and questioning her sanity before raising the knife. She slashed downwards hard against her wrist. Intent and unaware of the pain she gouged at her other wrist, harder this time and releasing a stream of thick red blood which she held unwaveringly over the huge diamond. "Here," she whispered bitterly, "here's your virgin's blood." A diffuse light immediately appeared in the centre of the stone and grew as she weakened, her ears buzzing strangely as she fought to overcome her faintness. The internal light continued to grow and still conscious, Lara fell against the dragon's jaw where the Orb was mounted, wiping her gushing wrists on the stone, pressing her pale forehead hard against the Orb, warm and sticky with her blood, and wished. She wished with all her heart.  
  
"Lara?"  
  
Angela's voice broke through the nauseous wave of dizziness in her head and Lara, spinning round like a drunkard, collapsed to the floor. Through hooded eyes she saw a blurred vision of Angela, unharmed and pink with life, approach - tears, fluttering hands, frightened eyes. As the buzzing in her ears became a roar and a circle of narrowing darkness encroached on her blurred sight, she reached out a trembling, bloody hand and smiling, stroked the golden hair once. Nothing die. Only change she thought and Lara Croft was gone.  
  
Angela cried for a long time, filling the silent hollow Dome with the echoing noise of her grief that intensified her loneliness, underlined Lara's death and brought more tears in turn. Eventually the wailing became weeping and then sobbing before finally the tears stopped and the girl's jagged breathing returned to normal. She stood looking around nervously with wide eyes. Fidgeting, she was unsure about what to do next. She looked down at Lara's body, whose eyes, dull now, were still open, staring past Angela's shoulder and giving the girl an idea. Relieved at being able to do something she remembered how the policeman had gently closed her daddy's eyes all that time ago in the hotel and crouching she did the same now for Lara. The practicality of the action calmed her, provided her with enough courage to tenderly sweep her fingertips across Lara's brow. After tracing the outline of Lara's beautiful face, she delved her fingers deep into the soft texture of Lara's hair, as if drawing strength from the contact. Angela stood, turned and raising her hands to her own face, she slowly pushed Lara's sunglasses up to the bridge of her nose, a placid smile on her face.  
  
The End 


End file.
